


Great House, Secret Spaces

by golden_bastet



Category: The Professionals
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 22:57:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8420410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/golden_bastet/pseuds/golden_bastet
Summary: Born of an Egyptian mother and unknown father, Raymond Doyle had fought his way to a spot on Pharaoh's elite police force only to be shunted aside after exposing the corruption of his superiors.He finds himself plucked up by a Lord Cowley, seconded to his mysterious organization, to investigate the appearance of odd amulets around the city. An assignment, not likely to amount to much, but perhaps enough for him to redeem himself elsewhere.Lord Cowley teams him with a WAP Bodie, an ex-army charioteer also seconded to the organization. As arrogant as he is good-looking, this Bodie is almost impossible to talk to, much less work with, and the assignment meant to salvage Doyle's career is off to a poor start. Doyle finds his next fight with this Bodie: they are polar opposites, barely tolerate each other – but then their minor assignment leads to murder, and mayhem, and something much bigger than either had imagined… in more ways than one. Inspired by real events (!).





	1. Introduction: Per aa, Great House

“Harken, thy lord approaches!”

Panouk, Superintendent of the Royal Harem, bellowed his tidings; the sistra began their jangling; and the procession started forward.

“Harken! User Ma'atre-meryamun, Ramesses Heqaiunu – Re is powerful in truth, beloved of Amun, Born of Ra, Ruler of Heliopolis! On your knees before the living god!”

Pharaoh swept into the hall, sure of foot as always, where the entire harem was already on their knees, head bowed. Truth be told, he was feeling weary, though he was sure not to show it: the trip to Waset, first down the waters of the Great River then over endless dusty roads; then opening the palace; then nonstop planning for the festivities marking his thirtieth year on the throne – all had taken quite a bit out of him. And there was quite a bit more to do: continuing discussions with the priests at the Temple of Amun, both for the festival and on matters of state; preliminary ceremonies leading up to the actual festival; and then the days of the festival itself, which would require a display of a high level of stamina, to run the circuits and prove his continuing health.

 _Well, better than the alternative,_ he smiled inwardly. After all, the festival had originated long ago as a means of eliminating a pharaoh too weak to perform his duties.

No danger of that happening today; it _had_ been thirty years since he'd assumed the Double Crown, but he was still as strong as he'd been the day that the crown had been placed on his head. Strong as a bull: able to strike the head from an enemy with one blow, or bed as many women as struck his fancy. There had been lean years, and strikes, and unrest; but that was all behind now – he would _make_ sure it was behind – and the festival would push it even further back, make the people forget. They would pray to Ra and Amun, and all would be well.

And tonight – tonight was for leisure, and pleasure, a short break in the midst of all the preparations. His wives had all been brought to Waset for the festival. A fire at the Eastern Compound had them all staying together here temporarily; the rivalries might cause clashes for a few days, but it was more convenient for him. So he could take his ease tonight -

He scanned the roomful of kneeling bodies. One – the new girl, the daughter of the king of the land of Ka-na-na – looked up briefly, fearfully, yet defiantly -

“Her,” he gestured. _Yes, her; someone new, not the jaded women who perform solely to cement their standing._ Two guards steeped forward and brought her to her feet. _Yes, her._ He'd enjoy this immensely.

He turned and strode into the bedchamber, the guards following, with the girl having squirmed free and walking haughtily just ahead of them. The room had been built for his comfort and to his specifications, with hidden exits nearby; he found himself immediately at ease in it. The girl stopped just inside the door; the guards bowed then stepped back, pulling the doors shut.

“On the bed,” he gestured. The girl silently moved to the bed, daring a brief glance as she glided across the floor.

He looked closer at her. He'd been thinking he'd like it hard and fast, but perhaps dallying with this one a bit _would_ be more to his taste. Causing her some pleasure, seeing her reaction, might be entertaining after all.

He came over to the bed couch, removing his kilt and tossing it to the floor, already feeling the stirrings of his loins. “You are as pretty as a fine spring day along the Nile, child. I desire to see that face cry out in pleasure; in fact, it would please me quite well.”

“Yes, sire,” she replied in the soft accents of her homeland, glancing down, closing her eyes.

“No need to be bashful; pleasing your lord is a high honour. And I think that you shall please me very much this night.”

He kissed the two eyelids, thought he could taste a tear. “What is this? No crying, now – or at least all crying shall be from joy.” He kissed his way down the golden neck, then to the clavicle, then stopped. The lovely eyes were still shut.

He took the lips, kissing them will all the skill that he possessed, then pulled back. “Surely that cannot have been bad, child; we've barely done anything. Open your eyes, now.” The lids slowly opened upon the topaz eyes, calmer than earlier, the gaze then suddenly widened in terror. But they weren't looking at him, they were looking _beyond_ him, past his shoulder.

“What's wrong, child?”

Pharaoh turned around.


	2. Magic (Heka)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a few months earlier

A determined-looking figure, young and slight of frame, crowned with a full head of riotous curls, quickly made his way through the dust and crowds of the market in the Street of the Jar Makers.

The man, one Raymond Doyle, was well acquainted with the Street of the Jar Makers. There was Senmut, who was busy at his wheel, spinning yet another new form with his wares arrayed at his feet. And Ahmose, hawking “the-best the-best the-best” at the top of his lungs. The market would not be the same without his persistent yell over all the other noise. A bit annoying, and the man was a bit abrasive; but he was a good sort at heart, would give you the shirt off his back in a minute.

Doyle hurried along the route, nodding recognition to various figures in the street. He was well acquainted with the district as a member of the medjay, Pharaoh's elite police force; had been through enough times on foot patrol to know all of them and their families on a first name basis. Membership in the medjay originally had been based on origin from the land of Medja; the organization had opened up admission to native Egyptians, but it was still difficult to join, and it was a matter of pride that he had been invited to and then made it onto the force.

Things of course had changed, gone south once he'd gotten in, gotten integrated, gotten to know how the medjay actually worked. Rather, had gotten to know how his superiors really worked, and how they accepted little gifts to provide the services they were meant to automatically provide as part of pharaoh's administrative arm. Reporting the corruption had done little to improve the situation, and in fact had made his own situation worse; until now he was relegated to beat work, shut off from his career and the front-line work he'd loved.

Intriguingly enough, a few days back he'd gotten a message from a Lord Cowley, head of CI5, to stop by and discuss his prospects. He'd heard of this CI5, an organization more myth than reality, reported to solve the harder cases that even the medjay couldn't. There were those who didn't believe that it was more than a rumour, but Doyle knew first-hand that there were those who had been called to serve that higher purpose. And now that he had been called himself, he believed in them now more than ever.

CI5 might be the one chance to get back to what he should be doing, to making sure that the land, and its people, were secure. Then again, CI5 might be yet another dead end to his life.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Come in, man.”

At the command, Doyle ducked into the room, momentarily blinded in the relative darkness after the bright heat of the spring day. “Good morning, sir,” he responded.

He took a brief look around the room once his eyesight had adjusted. There was a low table, behind which sat an older man with piercing blue eyes. Sat on a real wooden chair – not cross-legged on a mat, which indicated the importance of his station. Papryi were stacked neatly to one side of the desk, and ink and a pen sat ready for use on the other.

To the side of the table stood a second man: tall, lean, dark, with unspoken power - and more than a touch of menace - in the way he held himself at parade rest in front of the older man. The chest was sculpted as finely as the stonecarvers' work in the Temple of Ptah, and a flawlessly white kilt was wrapped perfectly about the slim hips. _Looks like military_ , thought Doyle. _Some sort of soldier. Definitely holds himself like that._ Eyes of the finest shade of cornflower gazed back with a touch of aloofness and challenge. _Looks a little full of himself, as well._ Doyle kept his attention from straying any farther than that; this was official business, after all.

Doyle moved his gaze back to the seated man. “Lord Cowley, you sent for me?”

“Yes, Officer Doyle of the medjay; thank you for coming at such short notice.” Cowley gestured to the statuesque man to the side. “This is WAP Bodie, a well-regarded member of Pharaoh's charioteers, although from time to time he may abuse that regard.” The older man gave the other man a frosty glare.

 _Must be a story there_ , mused Doyle, though he said nothing – at least for the moment. He shook hands.

The other man continued. “Both of you – be seated.” He gestured to two stools before the desk.

Doyle took one, while the soldier - _WAP Bodie, Lord Cowley had called him_ \- took the other.

“I have been following both of your careers for a while; you have both highly acquitted yourselves in your respective organizations.”

“I find that hard to believe, sir,” Doyle cut in. He had, after all, had paid a heavy price for exposing the double-dealings of his superiors.

“Don't believe that everything is as it may appear, Doyle; more is known than you might suppose. But let me continue. You and Bodie have been seconded to CI5 because your areas of expertise lend themselves to assist in a case on our docket.” Cowley turned to lift a linen-covered box from the floor; he placed it on the table, then carefully extracted an object out which he laid next to the box.

It was an amulet: a small, green object, barely big enough to cover a large palm, and in the shape of a scorpion.

The soldier gave a low whistle. “I'd say that's a hex, sir. Not a good sign.”

“Not a good sign indeed, Bodie,” replied Cowley.

“Where was it found, Lord Cowley?” asked Doyle.

“Beneath the corner of a building in the Street of the Linen Makers. Found while the owner was making some repairs.”

“Why would someone want to curse a weaver?” asked Bodie.

“And was it meant for a specific location? Which shop was it beneath, sir?” followed up Doyle.

“It was buried beneath the shop of Anpu – a well-established linen maker, who has been there for decades. Anpu has no known enemies who would want to place a curse on him.

“But it's not just Anpu.” Cowley pulled out several more items: a squat figure of the god Bes, a knot of Isis, and a series of chipped pieces. Placed together on the table, the chips resolved to a separate figurine, enough pieces retaining their shape to determine that it had once been a blue faience head of Hathor, the goddess of motherhood.

“Hathor, but crushed.” pointed out the soldier. “Clearly another curse.”

“Indeed.” Doyle didn't much like the soldier, but he had to give him credit for picking up on the implication. _'Bodie', Cowley had called him. No WAP._ “Was that one beneath Anpu's shop as well, Lord Cowley?”

“No, this was behind a basket maker's stall, far from the street of the linen makers. We have found amulets in a number of places around Waset, with no rhyme or reason to them. That is your task: find out who has been placing these amulets – and why.”

“But why us?” asked Doyle. “We're just a soldier and a policeman. What can we bring to the task that you wouldn't already have access to?”

“Speak for yourself, sunshine,” said the soldier.

“I will at that, _sunshine_ ,” Doyle snapped back. “Sir – ” he redirected his attention to Cowley, taking a breath, calming his voice, “CI5 are the elite of Pharaoh's elite force. Why come to us?”

“There is a certain sensitivity to this case, and we'd like to include, let's call them, outside perspectives for a solution. You both come highly recommended, and your work and the way you've conducted yourselves have been observed for some time; thus you find yourselves seconded to CI5. We believe – I believe – that this is well within your abilities to handle and bring to a decisive conclusion.”

Cowley placed the objects back in the box and removed it from the table. “I can't emphasize the importance of discretion with this case. We have no idea who is employing magic, and to what end – and we don't want them to be aware that we're investigating them, or give them the ability to influence the investigation or slow us down with their magic.

“On your chariots, lads – and good luck.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Doyle stood with the soldier outside the low mud brick building, his mind filled with more questions than answers. _Amulets. Hexes. Random locations. Not much to go on._ And the silent figure only tangentially paying attention to him.

_Well, best to get on with this. If I can prove myself to CI5, show what I can really do, there's a chance I get on their force, and get somewhere with my life._

A slight breeze skittered across his skin.

“So – Raymond Doyle, of the medjay.” Doyle stuck his hand out in greeting. “Looks like we'll be working on this together. May as well get to it, sort through exactly what we know and what we're facing.”

“Let's get out the sun and into a bit of shade, find somewhere we can sit down, and do just that.” Bodie gestured off into the general distance.

“Good idea. We can start by listing possible locales, split up who's going where to investigate -”

“Well, Raymond Doyle of the medjay, isn't that nice. Got it all planned out already. And what exactly are we doing once there, then?” The soldier looked rather put out, which in turn was getting under Doyle's skin.

 _A soldier, but he can't be_ _ **that**_ _thick._ “Need to check the shops, find out if there have been any threats made against them, any unfortunate incidents possibly caused by the amulets. Do the legwork to figure out what's going on.”

“Look, you. We're not going house to house and having tea at each; we need to find out what the spells themselves are. Keep in mind, didn't exactly sign up for you. Cowley's a good sort, gave me a chance. Not going to screw it up with some plod with two left feet who has no idea which way is up.”

“Fancy that. I didn't exactly sign up for a thick-headed soldier either, sunshine – but here we are. Cowley will get what he wants, and we need never see each other again. Just don't get in my way, and we'll be fine.”

“Fine. And don't you get in _my_ way. Understood?”

“Understood quite well, soldier.”

The breeze dropped off.


	3. The House of Beer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Do not cease to drink beer, to eat, to intoxicate thyself, to make love, and to celebrate the good days.
> 
> \- Egyptian Proverb

The room was a blur of activity, music and singing and drunken ribaldry bouncing around the mud brick walls like rocks in a rolling barrel. They'd both managed to agree that a raucous house of beer would be the best place to find privacy; this Bodie, more familiar with the district, had selected the location, and now Doyle was following him inside and to a table towards the back, where they now awaited their order.

A serving girl came cutting through the crowd, sure as one of Pharaoh's warships, a tray balanced delicately but expertly on her hip. She set the tray on the side of the table, then carefully placed two brimming bowls of ale, a fried fish, a plate of flattened loaves, and assorted snacks across the surface. The dark-haired man gave her an appreciative look; she gave him a smouldering gaze, then a wink, then left to continue on with her duties.

“Checking out the local talent, then?” Doyle prodded.

“Just making my presence known. We'll probably get extra snacks from that one. And anything else your heart might desire.” Bodie winked, then lazily picked up his bowl and took a deep drink of the golden beer.

“Came here to work, though, didn't we? You want to fraternize, you do it on your own time. We have a job to do.” Doyle briefly frowned, then picked up some nuts and absentmindedly popped them into his month. “Chatting up the barmaid isn't going to help find out what's going on. And it's not like we know much right now.” Beginning to focus on the case, Doyle cleared a space on the wooden table, shifting plates and bowls to the side. “We've got unconnected amulets from different lands. We've got attempts at black magic - ”

“Not from around here, are you, sunshine?” Bodie broke in, breaking a piece of fish off and popping it into his mouth.

“What do you mean by that?” Doyle's eyes narrowed into a glare.

“Curly, light brown hair, blue-green eyes – that doesn't say Khem. In addition, you don't seem to know your way around a beer house. Though I would have thought drinking beer had its own universal language.”

“ _Am_ from 'around here,' as you put it. As were my mother, her mother, and _her_ mother. Though I don't make it a habit to waltz into a beer house and make my way through all available candidates when I've been hired to work on a case. Speaking of which, we have a job to do. If you aren't willing to do it, say so now, so we can go our separate ways and avoid wasting each other's time.”

“Tetchy-tetchy-tetchy, sunshine. But true enough; we've been hired, as you say, to work on this specific case. So, let's see what we have: one amulet from Kush, one from Punt – recognise that one from my days playing Sinhue – and one from Khem, that one being crushed. All with malicious design.

“Now who would want to do a nasty thing like that?”

Doyle looked at Bodie, a smirk on the handsome face, an eyebrow raised. He'd always wanted to do well with the medjay, do his ancestors proud – and this opportunity with CI5 was likely the best one he would ever have to succeed in that. He was determined he *would* succeed, too.

_I will not let this man get in the way._

He bit back the harsh words that wanted to spill out. “I don't know, soldier. That's what we're here to find out.”

The serving girl returned, to place another dish on their table. “Compliments of the house, dear sirs.” The words may have been addressed to the two of them, and she spared a saucy wink for Doyle, but otherwise her main attention was on Bodie.

“You're a treasure, doll – and send our compliments to the chef.” Bodie grinned, then took a deep inhale of the roasted morsels of duck, dripping with hot fat. “Heavenly. Just what the doctor ordered! Who needs some bloody amulet, anyway?”

The serving girl's voice lowered. “You're using an amulet? Must be serious, then. Sure you need it?”

“Just a precaution, doll. Don't want a failure at any critical moments.” He winked at her.

“Oh, you're an awful one! You probably -” She fell silent, blanching at the object that had appeared in Bodie's palm. She glanced around to see if they were being watched, then leant over. “Put that away!” she hissed. “Are you crazy? Don't know who gave that to you, but you should take them out to the desert and slaughter them at midnight!”

“Why?” Bodie truly looked confused, even though by now Doyle was convinced that the man was a master manipulator. And then there was the not insignificant matter of how he'd gotten one of the amulets off Lord Cowley. “Got this from a gent down the market, told me it would work like a charm every time.”

She peered over it, though she wouldn't touch the object. “That's why you should avoid the cheaters down't market. It's not even from Khem; just some foreign trash magic, likely meant to curse some poor Khemetic soul.”

“I _knew_ there was something off the moment I saw him! Thanks for the warning, hon.”

She stepped back, her curiosity more than satisfied. “Well, I should know, now shouldn't I? Happened to my ancestor, back in the days of the great apostate, Amenhotep IV. All sorts of unrest going on then, and the great-grand was just looking for some protection. Though things aren't so different now, are they?”

“It's not all that bad today, hon; Pharaoh isn't denying the gods or playing favorites.”

“But with all the crop failures, and the Peoples of the Sea up to no good – _something's_ not happening that needs to be, I can tell you that. It's the kind of thing that'll destroy order, destroy Ma'at, destroy the country. And the people are looking for answers.” She looked back at the item clutched in Bodie's hand. “Things are tense enough these days, and the people are losing patience. All I can say is, flash that around here, and you'll soon find yourself with a dagger in your back. And that would be a true shame.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The two figures strode down the Street of Weavers, bellies full but minds at work. A slight breeze wafted over them, as they veered off into a shortcut through an alley.

“So, it's foreign, which we knew,” Bodie reviewed the information they'd gleaned. “Foreign magic is pretty much frowned upon, which we knew. So there's not much extra she had to say. Though that duck _was_ a treat.”

Doyle didn't quite agree; there _was_ something she'd said that was nagging at him. But first he had to know. “How did you do that?”

“Really not that difficult,” Bodie grinned. “It's me natural magnetism, you see; the birds are always eating out of my palm -”

“No; the amulet, berk. How did you get the amulet out of Cowley's office?”

“Oh, that. Snuck back in right after we all left earlier.” Bodie frowned. “You're not going to get all sanctimonious, are you? Because -”

“No,” Doyle broke in. “We've been given an assignment, which I fully intend to complete. I need to know I have a partner in this that won't work around me, go around my back, plow forward, ignore I'm here as well. You took the amulet, fine. You use it to get some info off your girlfriend, fine. But this is a joint project, and I don't intend to just sit there while you hie off and play big bad detective.”

“Did I hurt your widdle feelings, Doyle? Look – I don't need some plod coming in and bumbling around, playing Happy Families because he has no idea of what he's doing -”

It was debatable whether Bodie ever saw the fist that came flying his way, but he was quick to respond once it had. And each man gave as good as he got. Bodie had the height advantage, but Doyle used his speed and unexpected strength to press ahead against the other man. They tossed and tumbled through the trash in the alley, unable to get the better of each other: first Doyle had the advantage, pinning the larger man in the dust on his stomach – then he was upended and found himself on his back, the other man attempting to grab his wrists to hold them in his grip.

Doyle was stuck, and did the first thing he could think of: he reached beneath the kilt, rooted around quickly, and squeezed. Hard.

The bellow could be heard hundreds of thousands of cubits away in Men-nefer.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Sprawled in the dust of the alley, they gasped to catch their breaths.

“You – you cheated,” Bodie managed to get out, finally able to do more than shrink into a ball.

“Me-merely got your – attention,” Doyle panted, feeling various bruises of his own cropping up.

“Not-not going to work... if you're sneaky like that.”

“Not working now, is it?” Doyle gave him a look.

“Maybe it could. Though given Lord Cowley, we probably don't have a choice,” Bodie mused.

“And it's not forever,” Doyle added.

“So – truce? At least for now,” Bodie suggested.

“The duration of this partnership, else Lord Cowley will have our heads.”

“Yes, the cow. Sort of like Hathor, that one.”

“Yes, he is,” Doyle replied. Then started to laugh a deep laugh, all the way up from his belly.

“What's so funny?”

“Just thinking of Lord Cowley,” Doyle sniggered, “waddling by the waters of the Great River, collecting heads.”

Bodie had to laugh at that as well.


	4. The House of Seneb

“Well, that's a little better.”

Doyle held up a bit of shard. On it was a better-than-fair series of images of the amulet Bodie had swiped from Lord Cowley, in a form a lot less capable of getting them in trouble with the commander.

Bodie took it from the outstretched hand and looked closer. Doyle had captured a slight crack that neither of them had noticed earlier, which also likely kept the spell from being particularly effective.

“This shall do. I'll take it over to Seneb, see what he has to say.”

“And who is Seneb, when he's at home?”

“Friend of mine, doctor with a dash of magician. It's about time to call in a favor with him.”

“And what makes him such a friend that he can be trusted?”

“Kept him from getting aerated by a Libu arrow once,” Bodie said simply. “He owes me for that.”

Doyle was thoughtful. “Well, that would be as good a reason to trust him as any. Don't have much of anywhere else to go, anyway.” More decidedly, he stood and brushed off his kilt. “So, when do we go?”

“Not _we_ , sunshine, _me_.”

“'Me'?,” Doyle growled. “Now wait a minute, soldier -”

“Not that I don't want to take you along for the ride, but Seneb knows me, not you. I go in there with you, he's likely to clam up and we'll never get anything from him.”

“Thought he was such a good friend, owes you his life and everything?”

“We are good friends – but trust comes slowly to Seneb, and we have precious little time for all that. So I'll go, talk him up a bit; we'll get some information, and we'll move on. Good as gold.”

“If I think for a minute that you're playing me for a fool -”

“- you can personally clock me. Again. I promise. Now let's get on with it; Seneb keeps irregular hours and I don't want to have to search for him in the House of Mummification or something equally repulsive.” Bodie stood and moved towards the entry.

“House of – hey, what kind of friend is this, anyway?” Doyle followed him out the door.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Bodie – long time no see! Life, prosperity, health to you, my friend.” The man inclined his balding pate.

“Seneb, mate! Life, prosperity, health to you.” Bodie inclined his head in response, then reached out a hand which the other man grasped in warm greeting to follow with a hearty embrace. “My friend – what brings you here? There are no public meals or pretty women serving them in the House of Sekhmet.” Seneb laughed heartily.

“Oh, don't play coy, Seneb – I've known you too long and could tell some tales of things you've gotten up to, as well.”

“Sit, Bodie, and have a drink. Just stopped off at the Flying Duck for a jar on the way home.” Seneb went to a side table and brought out two dishes and a jar of beer.

“Seneb – how long have we been friends?”

Seneb's smile faded, and he placed the jar back down. “More than long enough. What is troubling you, mate?”

“These.” Bodie pulled a tied cloth from his belt, and opened it to expose the bright green shards to the air. “Found these in an unexpected place, and I need to find out why.”

Seneb looked closely at the pieces, turning them over in the lamplight. “This is something beyond what I normally see or cast, something beyond the usual 'I need a love potion' or 'make me a rich man.' Something rather powerful and complicated – and somewhat dangerous.” He picked up another shard and looked closely. “Yes, someone wrote the spell on the figurine, then smashed it to make sure it would stay in that place.”

Seneb put the pieces down and looked Bodie in the eye. “How many people have you shown this to, Bodie?”

“Just one or two, played it off as nothing much -”

“You should stop doing that. Immediately. There's something going on with this that could be very hazardous to your health. And not in the medical sense.”

“I can take care of myself, Seneb -”

“Yes, I don't doubt it – when you know what the danger is and when it responds to daggers and arrows. This isn't human, Bodie – or, it's under the control of a very powerful human, using means that you don't.”

“Okay; warning duly noted. How do I find out what it is?”

“You, mate, don't know when to say no.” Seneb shook his head. “But then, you wouldn't be Bodie if you did. This is beyond my skills; but there is someone I can send you to, someone who is skilled in the manufacture of amulets great and small, Egyptian and foreign, who might be able to help. And who I'd trust with my life, frankly.”

“There's someone else you'd trust with your life? You wound me.”

“Yes, Bodie, there is,” Seneb laughed. “I can count them on fewer than the fingers of one hand, but you're not the only person I've known to be basically good. And some days I have my doubts about you.” Seneb grinned a second, then once again became serious. “Ahmet-Atum, over in Set Ma'at – yes, he would have knowledge of what this is and where to go with it.”

“Set Ma'at? Where they make the furnishings for the royal tombs?” Bodie snorted. “You don't just waltz into Set Ma'at and demand to see anyone.”

“I can get you in, Bodie – I actually have rights to do that much. I can get you in to see Ahmet-Atum, and then you can talk to him.”

“You have _that_ much power? I should have stopped by to see you earlier.” Bodie grinned.

“I have the one contact, know him from years back. But yes, I can get you in. Give me a couple of days, and I can both put together a laissez-passer and send word along. That way you go in, avoid challenges – and avoid drawing attention to yourself. As much as you'd like the attention.”

“Ah, you wound me, Seneb. But okay, it's a plan. Been assigned a partner on this -”

“Someone else is involved?” Seneb frowned his displeasure. “Why not just paint a target on your back? It'll be faster.”

“He's a plod, and not my choice -”

“And I know how much you're enamoured of them,” mused Seneb.

“- but we're a package deal on this job. I go in with him, or not at all.”

“Makes it that much harder, Bodie.”

“Understood, Seneb - and I'll owe you for this one. Will buy you the Flying Duck's entire inventory.”

“I'll do what I can, since you're determined to see this through. And the Flying Duck's not necessary, because then you'll just take up residence on my doorstep.”

Bodie laughed. “M'not that bad; I'd only come by to help you keep up with their output. But alright; I'll come back in three days, see what the next step is. And no, you may not keep this.” He carefully tied up the pieces of cloth and resettled the bundle on his hip.

“Believe me, I wouldn't want it. But, let's visit. Beer?”

“Naw, think I'll take Baby home and put her to bed.” Bodie patted the small pouch, then stood to make his departure. “But let's visit another time, when there's nothing hanging over the proceedings.”

“Okay; then another time it is, my friend.” Seneb placed the jar back on the sideboard and turned back to Bodie. “Take care of yourself.

“And Bodie? One word of advice. If you have any choice in the matter at all, I would drop this. Immediately.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

 _So this is certainly turning into quite the adventure._ Bodie mulled over the discussion with his friend. _Mysterious powerful amulet shards, powerful magicians to decipher it, traveling to restricted villages -_

“So, soldier – top secret meeting go well?”

_and annoying plod partners that don't know when to stop. Then again, have to work with him._

“Doyle, of course. It would be you. And not very good with direction. What are you doing here? Told you, Seneb's a sensitive sort, not looking to make new friends.”

“Hang about – your friend works in the House of Mummification?”

“He's a doctor-magician, some ties to the House of Sekhmet, though more a freelancer. Goes from place to place as needed, and I'm sure he's shown up at one or two Houses of Mummification, though death rituals per se aren't quite what he does.”

“With all that moving, sounds like it'd be hard to actually meet him.”

“Knew him when we were out on the desert border, with the Libu; did me a good turn, and in return, I saved him from a nasty end. He's a good sort and a good friend. There are few I'd trust to cover my back, but he's definitely on the list.”

“So what happened with Seneb? You didn't stop in just to pass the time of day.”

“It was a short visit, but he told me that the amulet was a little more high-powered than we'd thought, and in fact a little more high-powered than he normally worked with. He's got a contact that he'll put us in contact with in a few days, though on the q.t. And our pocket friend may be a little more sensitive than we thought, so he suggested a little delicacy in the matter.”

“No more running down the street yelling it at the top of our lungs, then?”

“Highly disapproved of.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Bad magic. Bad, bad magic._

Seneb would never have admitted it to Bodie, but he'd been fairly shaken by the shards that his friend had brought. And he hadn't lied: it was very powerful, very targeted magic, for a purpose that was anything but good. The thought of it had kept him up virtually all night.

_This is far beyond anything I can handle; this is Temple of Amun-level magic, not for a small-time doctor-magician with a few contacts. I'll just send him to_ _Ahmet-Atum, and wash my hands of the matter. And consider all debts owed to be paid off. By Amun! How does Bodie get himself into these fixes, anyway? The man was born on Set's birth day, and bad luck has been following him ever since._

Seneb reached for the jar of beer and poured a generous measure into a bowl. _Could use something to calm my nerves._ He tipped the bowl back, clearing it in one draught, then poured another measure into the bowl. _Hmmm, tastes a little off. Not like The Flying Duck at all._ He took another sip, then placed the bowl back down. _Very off. And I just picked that up a few hours ago._ The cramps, when they hit him, were sudden and severe, forcing him to his knees in a matter of seconds. And as he collapsed to the ground, a paralysis creeping over him, the last thing he saw was a figure over him, tilting his head back as it brought a flask of something towards his mouth.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Seneb's dead?”

Bodie looked even paler than normal at the words of the black-haired man standing before them.

“Yes, my friend. Our unit-mate is no more. Even now he has been taken to the House of Purification, to prepare for his journey to meet his ancestors.”

This was the first time Doyle had seen his partner at a loss for words, or out of control of his surroundings. But the man was clearly thrown for a loop.

Their visitor turned to Doyle. “I am Tutamen,” he gestured briefly. “Seneb, Bodie, and I served together in the charioteers.”

“But I just saw him yesterday. We planned to meet up in a couple of days. He'd stopped at the Flying Duck, that place in the Street of the Jackals...”

“Well, good thing you didn't. Looks like the beer had gone bad. The Flying Duck's closed until further notice.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Something's wrong with this, Doyle. Seneb was worried – more worried than he let on – and warned me to keep quiet about the amulets, drop the whole thing if I could. Didn't think it would cost him his life.”

“Not your fault, mate. It means that we have to find out what's going on fast, and prevent any more 'accidents'.”

“We need to find Cowley, now. And we need to get to Set Ma'at – that's where Seneb told us to go.”

“Set Ma'at!” Doyle hissed out the words, and they both looked around quickly to see who might have heard them. “How the hell do we get over there? They'll kill us before we get within twenty _iteru_ of the place.”

“I don't know. Seneb was working on a laissez-passer to get us over there. Won't happen now – but that's where we go to find out what these things are.”

“Cowley – we go find Cowley.” Doyle sounded confident. “'M sure if anyone can get us into Set Ma'at, he can.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They got to the low, squat, shabby building where they'd met with Cowley a few days earlier just in time to see the fire brigade extinguish the last embers of the flames that had engulfed it. A crowd stood watching as workmen threw sand and water on the smoldering rubble.

The two men stood to the side, with if not in the crowd.

“It's gone. _He's_ gone.” Doyle shook his head. “With no forwarding address.”

“Well, so much for finding Cowley, Doyle. Whoever's done this, they definitely have got our attention now,” Bodie replied.

“Can't get to Cowley, can't get answers. No clear direction to follow. Although… those items you lifted,” Doyle poked Bodie in the chest, “are our only keys to the answer, and there may be a keyhole – or at least directions to it – on the other side of the Great River. Let's go match up the two things.”

“A man after my own heart – even if you've got a set of particularly bony fingers,” Bodie pouted. Well, then, 'the place of truth' calls. What are we waiting for?”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They walked towards the Street of the Embalmers, which led out of town; outwardly they were out for a quiet stroll, though inwardly they were deep in thought. Or at least Bodie was; Doyle seemed more conflicted, and Bodie wasn't sure he wasn't about to turn around and call things off.

“Hold on a minute.” Doyle stopped in his tracks, pulling Bodie to the side.

“What? See something?” _Here it comes._

“No, we need to take care of something before we go any further. Need to make a side trip. C'mon, this way.” Doyle tugged on his companion's elbow and they headed back towards town, easily blending in to the foot traffic of a busy city.

“Just remember where we're going, as this may be helpful later,” Doyle said.

“I know you're more than happy to lead me astray and dump me somewhere, but won't a detour make getting to our actual destination that much more difficult?” Bodie frowned a bit.

“No, this won't take that long. C'mon,” and Doyle took off down the street.

He led them down several back alleys and through a couple of shops to arrive at a short, squat, run-down building deep in a neighborhood that Bodie wasn't at all familiar with. They walked into the cool interior, where it took Bodie a few minutes to adjust to the dark.

“This place,” he swiped at a few cobwebs, “should have been condemned in the time of Khufu.”

“Well, it does for me.”

“Your standards don't rise very high, either. Where the hell are we, Doyle?”

“You don't need particulars on where it is. Don't come here often; mainly avoid it to keep it secure. But it's a place I leave things that I want to make sure are safely kept. We won't be here that long, anyway.”

He turned to a corner and dug a bit, to reveal a box hidden away beneath the earthen floor. “Here it is.” He brought the box out, to place it on a rickety table; dusted it off, then opened it.

It was full of what looked at first to be trinkets, but which Bodie realised were -

“Amulets.”

“Yes. And not the bad kind.”

Doyle began to sort through them, pulling a few out of the tangle and placing them on the table. A frown ripened and deepened across the broad face.

Bodie looked doubtful. “Have more than enough amulets to handle already. You want to add to that?”

“Hush; we're fighting fire with fire,” Doyle replied; then, more to himself: “This won't do. Just need a minute...” Deep in thought, Doyle looked around the hut a few seconds; then, an idea occurring to him, he reached inside his tunic, fished out a small gold lump on a leather string, and passed it over to Bodie. “Here, since everyone needs minding sometimes. This is the best I can do. And I shall want that back at some point, when this is all over.”

Bodie fingered the small golden object in the shape of an angelfish, all curves and fins and grace; feeling the ridges and whorls running over the surface, still warm from lying against Doyle's skin. _Real partner, there_ , was what he thought; “Figures you'd fight an amulet with an amulet,” was what he said. Even so, the orb gave him a certain feeling of peace in his core…

Then he looked up sharply, critical. "What about you?” he asked sternly.

“I have this,” Doyle replied, pulling out another beaded chain. “Works well, and hasn't let me down yet.”

Bodie peered closely at the chain, a simple yet colorful loop of red bugle beads. He peered more closely, and saw a little green dot, which resolved to be a tiny frog bridging the span between two beads.

Doyle pulled back; and the chain fell back within the tunic.

“You're a regular charm factory, at that. If the day job doesn't work, you definitely have something to fall back on.”

“Well, no need to go out without protection. Wouldn't go out without my kilt, won't go out without a charm. And keeping an eye on you now, too, MacDuff.”

Bodie grinned, and lifted the little gold shape. “So, does this make me Angelfish?”

“You may be whatever you want, as long as you have the charm on.”

Bodie grinned at Doyle as he angled the leather cord over his head. A gust of wind swirled through the window, raising dust devils and making Bodie sneeze.

“Oi! The winds are definitely wicked this side of town. Me poor delicate sinuses can't take much more of this treatment.”

“C'mon, delicate blossom, we've got a job to do. Let's put this gear back and get on with it.”

“Delicate blossom? Nah, I'm Angelfish,” Bodie grinned.


	5. Set Ma'at

The workroom was still, details obscured in the darkness of a sleeping house. The inhabitants had gone to their sleeping mats long before, and not even the mice were stirring.

A leg snaked over the garden wall, carefully moving around until it made contact with the workbench surface. Oh so carefully, a second leg came down, to find purchase as well, just to the side of a group of jars. The two legs met together, found firmer purchase, and then provided the support for the rest of the body to crouch. A curly head looked around the darkened, abandoned room, then leaned back over to whisper, “Okay, coast is clear.”

Another body, a bit more solid, came over the wall, lowering itself just as carefully. The first man, distracted by a noise, whirled around - and the descending foot connected with the objects on the counter. The first man scurried to save the vessels, and grabbed them – all but one, which went flying off the table.

Both bodies froze, breathless, at the sound of breaking pottery.

After a few electric moments, when it seemed nothing else would disturb the quiet, the second body made its way down and joined the first on the floor of the workshop.

“That was a close one; all we need is to get caught,” Bodie whispered.

“No kidding, Raffles,” Doyle softly snorted. “I see they hired you for your brains.”

“Don't sweat it, sunshine. We're in the clear, plus this should be the house that lines up with the sign on the front door. Now all we have to do is wait for Ahmet-Atum.”

“Well, you've found him,” a clear voice echoed across the room as a figure strode in through the far door, a lamp in one hand, a sword in the other. He was an older but powerfully built man – with a look of absolute anger across the stern face. “And who the hell are you two?”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Er, Seneb sent us,” said Bodie by way of explanation.

“Seneb's dead.”

“Yes, and we believe we know something about the why,” Doyle interjected.

“And why should I believe that, with you sneaking into my shop?”

“Because he died right after we asked him about a case we're working on,” Bodie answered. “We showed him something, he was concerned enough to direct us to you, and he was dead twenty-four hours later. Not enough time to get us the means to come in the front door.” Bodie reached down to scrabble about for the pouch at his waist. “Here, let me show you -”

“Keep your hands where I can see them!” barked Ahmet-Atum. “You have no rights to be anywhere near this place. I can have the medjay in here in seconds.”

“Okay, okay, okay – don't want you to get an itchy arm, start swinging that sword about,” Bodie quickly raised his hands up in supplication. “Look – let me just show you what I showed him, get your opinion, then we can be on our way.”

“Whatever it is, you place it on the workbench,” Ahmet-Atum gestured to Bodie, then the wooden surface, “then step back over there.”

Bodie stepped forward, detached the pouch from his belt, and placed it on the wooden worktable. “There you go, mate.” He stepped back to stand again next to Doyle.

Ahmet-Atum moved to the workbench and placed the flickering lamp on it. Keeping the sword raised, and an eye on the pair across the floor, he used one hand to open the string of the pouch.

The change in his demeanor was instantaneous; if anything, he was angrier – if that were possible.

“Where did you get these?”

“He told you,” Doyle said, “we're working on a case. These have been popping up around Waset lately, buried all over the place. We're thinking it's not from some granny trying to marrying off her spinster daughter.”

“And working on a case for who?”

“Can't exactly tell you that; sworn to secrecy – for reasons I think you can guess, which is why we're here,” Doyle continued. “But our patron's a man of some importance. Also is a bit indisposed at the moment; he's away from his shop and is unreachable.”

“Tell me where they were found.” The look on Ahmet-Atum's face was inscrutable.

“Basket weaver's shop, linen maker's shop. Not sure about the one in the pouch. There may be more, but we don't have them, and at this point they may be off on holiday with our patron.”

“Ah, I think I may know who that is; I've heard a few rumors. And what are your names?”

“Me, I'm Ray Duncan, and this,” Doyle gestured, “is David Bentley.”

“A likely story,” Ahmet-Atum snorted, though not too unkindly, “but one needs to be careful in these times. Come over, then.”

They carefully approached the table, til they were opposite Ahmet-Atum. “Seneb would have recognized the importance of what you have here, though he likely didn't have all the resources to completely understand the underlying significance. Thus why he sent you to me.

“Here, sit down. Can't have you gadding about my workshop, you might knock something over. Something _else_ ,” he indicated to where Bodie had knocked over the jar. “Not easy to replace those, you know.”

“Sorry,” Bodie mumbled.

Ahmet-Atum turned to pull a scroll from a shelf. “And you likely don't have the funds to pay for it, anyway. Lucky for you, Benit-amun owes me a bowl; time to collect on that, I suppose.

“Back to the matter at hand: charms. What you have here are very powerful charms. Extremely powerful. Meant to assist in calling out the forces of darkness to direct their anger and energies towards one target to avoid injuring another. I'm sure you know the docile cow can become deadly in order to protect her young; here, Hathor's usually benign powers are being used to lash out against threats to a child.

“Who that child – and its mother – are, isn't apparent just from the amulet. But the quality of the spell is far beyond something a field hand could afford. This isn't a commoner with a petty grievance. And especially if it's led to Seneb's death.”

“Any ideas who it could be targeted against?” Bodie asked.

“In these times, there's a full list of candidates. Things have been difficult in Khem: several years of crop failures, the Peoples of the Sea and the Libu running skirmishes around the borders - “

“Yes,” reminisced Bodie. “Lots of action there.” His eyes almost shone at the sense of adventure, Doyle noted, amused.

“There were even the strikes about five years back; everyone put down their tools five or six times.”

“Strikes?” Doyle was surprised. “Who would dare go on strike against Pharaoh's workings?”

“You two are from the outside, and have no experience of life at Set Ma'at. Here, we work on the items that accompany royals and high nobles on their journey to the afterlife. We are generally closed off from the rest of Khem, in part to focus us on our work, in part because we have enough knowledge of the burials to make a tomb robber's life much easier. As part of that, and in order to make sure we can continue our work uninterrupted, we are provided with the basics for living: wheat, housing, cloth, items such as that. Well, about five years ago, during the annual flooding of the Great River, those basics began to be delayed, and then to stop coming at all. After several months of no way to feed your family, and no ear open to heed your pleas, you would put down your tools as well. Some even started looking for other jobs beyond Set Ma'at.

“After a bit of this – and especially when Pharaoh's first-born, Prince Amenkerkhepshef, Amun Is on His Right Hand, first took ill and looked set to join Ra's barque through the afterworld without the necessary items – we did gain a hearing and the basics were reestablished. Even since, there has been the odd delay here and there, and short protests, but we haven't had as much trouble. And no further need to take outside jobs to support ourselves.

“So, back to the amulets. Who might the spells target? Any high-ranking official makes numerous enemies seeking retribution. Governors of various nomes always come across as being in it mainly for themselves. Pharaoh's mighty generals don't go after the land of Khem's enemies with sufficient fervour for some. An advisor or a head priest of one of the main temples doesn't pacify the gods enough to maintain Ma'at across Khem. And there has been more than enough active disturbances among the people in recent years. It could be anyone – and if you're meant to protect them, may the gods help you in your journey.”

“There's got to be a way to narrow this down.” Doyle wasn't able to keep the frustration out of his voice.

“There is, Mr – Duncan, did you say?”

Doyle nodded.

“You need to find out what the underlying spell or spells are. That I can't help you with; I carve the amulets, I understand how they work, but I am no magician and do not cast the spells. For that, you'll have to find an expert, in the House of Life.”

“Oh, just the House of Life,” Bodie said. “Yeah, a wee bit harder than getting in here. We'll just waltz in, shall we?”

“Be quiet, you. You're in Set Ma'at, where we work with those in the House of Life on a regular basis. And, unlike Seneb, we have protection around here – which, mind, will definitely need reviewing if you two were able to get in. We will send you to speak with a priest at the House of Life of the Temple of Amun, who will be able to track down likely spells amongst their scrolls and get you the information you need.

“Luckily for you, Seneb _was_ able to get word to me before he was killed, though he wasn't able to put together your travel permits. I have known of your existence, though I needed to be sure it was you and not impostors. Now that you're here, I can get you back out. Carefully, of course, because we want to keep your whereabouts as untraceable as possible. Unless, of course, you're ready to join Seneb in the afterlife,” he grinned in a slightly discomforting way. “We here can assist with that.”

“That's alright; we have a few more things to do in this one,” Doyle replied.

“Well, then, Mr Bodie, Mr Doyle; we'll wait for daylight, then send you back to Waset. And we'll make sure you don't go astray on the way.”

“Wait a minute – how - ”

“Like I said, I did get a message from Seneb and know a bit about what's going on. Now, we'll get you out of here, in as whole a shape as possible.”

“Thank you, sir,” Doyle murmured.

“Not at all, lad; the pleasure's mine. Anything that secures the safety of Khem and Pharaoh is uppermost in my mind. You make sure that you keep yourselves safe, though, as whatever scorpion you're pursuing looks to have an extremely deadly sting. Seneb found that out, to his eternal detriment.

“Life, prosperity, health to the both of you. Good luck in your journey. And give my greetings to your Lord Cowley whenever you're able to find him.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

A bit unsteady, the cart pulled into the courtyard of the Temple of Hathor and came to a rickety stop. Clouds of dust emanated from the sacks of grain dangerously overstacked on its bed.

“Pull it into the storeroom over there,” the guard pointed out the structure in question to the drayer. “When you've unhitched the oxen, bring them to the stables before the head priest pitches a fit and I have that to deal with.”

The drayer nodded absentmindedly – perhaps in obedience, perhaps thinking of the dish of beer awaiting him at the end of his task. He steered the cart through open doors of the shed, then slowly turned it around to face forward. Lowing laconically, the oxen were decoupled from the shafts, then led away to the stables, the guard slowly pulling the doors shut behind the flicking tails.

He then turned to the cart and said, “You can come out now.”

The sacks began to shift perilously, and he ran to keep them from falling to the ground. “Oy, be careful! Don't need to have the head priest come down on me for wasting grain.”

“This head priest sounds like a pistol.” Bodie emerged, sneezing.

“You don't know the half of it; he runs a tight ship,” said the guard. “Name's Dua-Kheti; let me give you a hand.”

Doyle took the proffered hand and clambered out. “Duncan; he's Bentley. Thanks for the help.”

“My pleasure; Ahmet-Atum has done me a favor to two, so always happy to help him out. Do you need anything else from me?”

“No, we should be good.” Doyle looked at Bodie for confirmation; the other man nodded. “We can take it from here.”

“Well, I need to get back to the gates; you can exit through the side door there when you're ready. That door leads to a passage which follows the outer wall to the back of the complex. Go straight until you pass the main temple and the House of Life will be right before you; you can't miss it. Enter the first doorway, get into the closet, and wait there. The scribe on duty will be out for you as soon as he can.

“Just be sure to walk straight, facing forward, with a sense of decorum, like you have business back there – and you should be fine.”

“Appreciate it, Dua-Kheti,” Bodie shook his hand. “Life, prosperity, health to you.”

“Same to you. Now, give it a few minutes, then slip out the side.” And the guard was gone.

“Well, you look a sight,” Doyle mused. “Not much decorum there.”

Bodie looked down his front; he was covered head-to-toe in bits of hay and grain.

“Could say the same for you, Doyle. Oy,” he looked himself over once, “we can't go out looking like this.” He gave a few swipes to his kilt, then looked at Doyle and immediately moved to pick stray strands from the mass of curls. A slight breeze swirled in from the slitted storeroom windows high above them.

“How do you keep all that sorted out, anyway?” he mused, on the verge of a joke.

“Same as you, I suppose. They have these things called combs.”

“Oh, really? Don't suppose you have one of those magical implements on you at the moment.” Bodie picked more strands from Doyle's hair, then gave the mass a toussle. “Not going to get any birds with that mess, old son.”

“Well, it does for me,” Doyle smiled back, smugly. “Always like to feel their hands in my hair; just feels good. Nothing like it.”

Bodie kept picking, started massaging just a bit, teasingly, his blue eyes looking into Doyle's. “Figures you would.”

“You can just keep doing that, as long as you like,” Doyle replied quietly, smirking.

In the semi-dark and quiet, with a gentle wind dancing about the room, they looked at each other wordlessly, expectantly – and then Bodie sneezed.

His hands instantly dropped, the moment broken. “Sinuses have been put through their paces lately. Was a little afraid I'd sneeze in the cart and give everything away.”

“Well, we need to be off, at any rate,” Doyle sounded less wistful, more officious and back to the matter at hand. “You look clean enough; if you're done here, let's go.”

“You're clean too, or as clean as you're going to get,” Bodie replied. “And good thing the breeze has died down, too; that was not helping with the dust at all. Been like a regular sandstorm this spring.”


	6. Per-Ankh, The House of Life

The pathway stretched out interminably before them, the known quantity of the storeroom behind, the main hall of the Temple of Amun towering to the right, and the smaller but no less foreboding presence of the House of Life just visible beyond that. Not a soul was out, and indeed little noise filtered over the wall from the precinct on the other side.

It was ominous indeed, and they had no idea what they were about to walk into.

“Well, nothing to it, then,” sighed Bodie; and they started forward.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The journey was uneventful, though long and tense, with the occasional chant floating out from the main temple. They encountered no one outside the buildings. They said nothing to each other, focused on finding their destination; but Doyle felt the weight of the complex, the task, the looming enormity of what they needed to do bearing down upon them. The only thing anchoring him to the wildness of the situation, the location, was the strong presence of the man beside him, the only other soul who knew what their purpose was.

By the time they had passed the massive temple hall and approached the House of Life, the small doorway that Dua-nam had described was easy to spot, putting Doyle a little at ease. It was a simple matter of entering the room; opening the massive chest, larger than a large man; stepping inside, and closing the door behind them; and then waiting.

Time seemed to go slowly to Doyle, crammed up against Bodie in the confined space: a slight crack of light just illuminating the compartment, with faint sounds of activity drifting through from the temple complex. There was the smell of the other man: a mixture of hay, and a spicy perfume, and sweat, and something indescribable but which Doyle would say was unique to him. His smell; and the heat of his body; and the measured _bm-bm_ , _bm-bm_ , _bm-bm_ of his heart, regular and almost reassuring in its steadiness.

Yes, time was slow – slow enough for him to truly think about the situation, and their predicament, for the first time since he'd met Bodie. Five days earlier, he'd been ecstatic, walking on air – been given a chance to prove himself beyond the medjay, prove he had what it takes, prove he was just as Khemetic as everyone else. And it had all gone to hell faster than a shooting star: cursed amulets, disappeared consigliore, and annoying partners. Now he was stuck in a cabinet with an infuriating bastard who was convinced nothing could touch him, especially anything not purely of Khem. And if they were able to find out anything, whom could they tell? The mysterious Lord Cowley was gone, although with his officers and his workshop. The only being Doyle would personally trust would be Pharaoh, though how they'd even begin to approach him was beyond Doyle.

_Yes, Pharaoh -_

_and Bodie._

And he wasn't sure at the moment what he'd do without Bodie.

 _As annoying as Bodie can be._.

“What is it now, Doyle?” Bodie whispered, sounding not a little exasperated. “So you find me annoying. Get it out of your system if you need to; but we're not going anywhere at the moment, if you haven't noticed. Not exactly anywhere to go.”

He'd said that out loud? “Just thinking.”

“Oh, and here it comes.”

“Don't start, now,” Doyle replied, “we're beyond that. And don't tell me you haven't noticed we're in a bit of a bind.”

“You don't say.”

“Shut up and listen for a moment. Cowley sent us out on this boondoggle. He's disappeared, and bodies seem to be dropping left and right as we proceed. What if that's not exactly by accident?”

“You think Cowley is trying to get us killed?”

“No, not quite; just trying to get us to find out what's going on, to trigger a response – without his hand clearly in it. Think about it: right now, whom do we trust, whom do we go to with answers to whatever's going on?”

“Well, there's Pharaoh – though you don't just drop by Pharaoh's palace for tea and biccies. And there's Cowley, or there would be if we knew where he was... oh, I see what you mean. Plausible deniability. You do have a point. Though if it's true, he'll have to pop up again eventually.”

“So, what are our options?” Doyle pressed on.

“Few and none, I'd say,” Bodie muttered. “It's just you and me.”

“C'mon, sunshine, there's always at least one good soul in the land of Khem. Things are never that bad.”

“Well, Cowley will have to turn up again sometime, though it may not be to us. But – I trust you, Doyle; you know exactly how we've gotten to this point. You might be that one good soul in the land of Khem you're going on about.”

Doyle felt the tiniest bit of warmth inside, though he'd never say that out loud. “Hey, you trusted Seneb, so the capacity is always there. But think of it: Pharaoh's the only other person to trust, and we know where he's at. And if we can't get into the palace -”

“- then maybe Pharaoh comes to us,” Bodie finished.

“Yeah,” they said together.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“As Osiris the son reigns in the sky,” a tenor offered to the dusty air.

“So doth Horus the father fly across the underworld,” Bodie replied. “So, you must be our contact.”

“With a mixed-up greeting like that, it couldn't be anyone else, now could it? Horemhab, scribe-priest of the House of Life at the Temple of Amun, at your service.”

“Duncan; he's Bentley.” The three shook hands. “Horemhab, eh?” Bodie smirked.

“Me mam had a thing for military men. Not to mention pharaohs. Does for me.” The scribe smirked back, then continued. “I hear that Ahmet-Atum sent you. So, where are the mysterious amulets?'

Bodie untied the pouch and handed it to Horemhab, who carried it to a nearby table and carefully loosened the leather ties.

“Ah – broken into shards. That was meant to keep the magic confined to the place of the ritual, form a protective – or influential – locale. That says a lot… Excellent; we look to have enough material to get a sense of what's going on.

“This is a charm of deflected protection. As you know, one of the holiest bonds in Khem is that between a mother and child. What this charm does is to invoke the spirits to protect the supplicant by aligning him and his mother with Horus and Hathor. How it protects them is to point out a threat to the bonding and have the spirits attack it. There is a missing piece, just where the 'threat' would be described, so I can't give you much detail on that.

“As for who could have ordered this: very few. Between what I can see of the workmanship, and the nature of the spell – as most spells protect, rather than actively attack – it would have to be someone in the extreme upper reaches of society. Because this spell came from a House of Life; and while not impossible, it would be difficult and very obvious if anyone outside of the nobility were to attempt to gain that kind of access.”

“That might start to explain a few things,” mused Bodie, as Doyle gave a low whistle.

“Can you tell which House of Life?” asked Doyle. “If this is that dangerous, we don't have the time to go to every temple in every city in the land and check. Plus who knows what hornets' nest we would stir up by doing that.”

“No, though there are things about that look familiar… Each scribe has his own style in crafting spells. It is even possible that it could have come out of this House of Life.

“I've actually noticed a few things going on here, which now make me think they may not be unrelated.”

“Things? What things?” Bodie pressed.

“Let me tell you. Here at this House of Life, as with all of them, we concentrate mainly on the acquisition and preservation of knowledge – no more, no less. For such a mighty temple complex, we are on the smallish side; there are relatively few entrusted with the proper care and handling of such sacred and sometimes powerful texts, and we lead a fairly secluded life. Well, in recent months, there has been an increase in contacts and even messages for several of the scribe-priests.”

“Recognize any new messengers?” Doyle asked.

“No, they're the same lot: a few from the army barracks, a few from the palace, a couple from some of the smaller temples. Plus we have our own.

“No, nothing odd about having messages, or the places they come from. We've been known to send to more than a few locations ourselves, even as far as Kush. It's just the number of messages has shot up.”

“Have you read any of them?” Doyle wanted to know.

“Heavens, no!” Horemhab looked scandalized. “They bear seals. The individual scribes they're addressed to are the ones to break the seals, no one else.”

“Which scribes get the most messages?” Bodie nodded at Doyle's question. He had a couple of hunches, and appreciated Bodie taking a back seat as he pursued them.

“Well, Nespakashuty, and Pawah, and Messui and Shotmaadje. They seem to get the bulk, especially recently.”

“Do they specialize in any sort of spells?”

“We all are trained in all types of spells, but we often specialize in whom we do the spells for. Nespakashuty focuses on work for other temples; Pawah on requests involving Pharaoh and his family; Messui, on the military; and Shotmaadje, on work with various nome governors. Though everyone can back up everyone else if needed.”

“Do we have time to take a look through their quarters?”

“Evening devotions will continue for a while longer; the scribes have signed themselves out for that, so things should be quiet right now. Since I am officially the scribe left on duty tonight, we have the run of the place. So yes, I can take you in for a quick look, at any rate. But no,” Horemhab frowned, “you can't go in looking like that. Over on that shelf behind you are a few extra tunics and headdresses for the messengers and occasional visitors, to keep a little decorum. Put those on.”

Doyle rather admired how the tunic fit across the expanse of Bodie's chest; he filed away the image for later consideration.

“Okay, gentlemen; we are now ready to proceed. Welcome to the House of Life of the Temple of Karnak: _Ipet-isu_ , the 'most select of places' of the Theban Triad of Gods.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The House of Life was much smaller than Doyle would have expected: one great hall, with multitudes of small rooms branching off from it. The small group swiftly covered the length of the great hall, then entered a smaller hall at the opposite end.

There were another series of small rooms off the sides of this hall, and they turned into one immediately. It showed a homely touch: a narrow bed couch, a stand with a table and a scribe's tools, a wig stand with two simple though expensive-looking wigs, and a clothes cask against the wall.

“This is Pawah's room; he's the one with the ties to Pharaoh's house. I will stay in the hall to make sure that no one comes this way. Just be sure to put everything back exactly as you found it, as Pawah can do you a mischief if you don't.” Horemhab left the room.

Bodie started carefully searching the clothes chest, while Doyle scanned the floor and walls for possible hidden compartments.

“Well, hello Nellie,” Bodie said, impressed.

Doyle came directly over. “What did you find?”

“Seems our man Pawah has a few extracurricular tastes,” Bodie was poring over a few papyrus scraps which resolved into images – of men and women, and men and men, and women and women, and a few things that Doyle couldn't exactly make out.

“I didn't know that was humanly possible,” said Bodie, tilting his head at the scroll in his hands.

“I will say it's something I've never tried. Looks like you could break something that way.” Doyle scratched his head.

“Gotta broaden your horizons, Doyle.” Bodie grinned. “There's a whole big world out there.”

“Yes, and a curse in it set to go off,” Horemhab appeared in the doorway. “You'll need to finish up here quickly, as the scribes will get back soon.”

“Spoilsport,” Bodie muttered, but returned to the cask as Doyle resumed his search.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Nothing turned up, and they returned to the hall empty-handed.

“Who's next?” Doyle asked Horemhab.

“Well, Messui's room is just here, so we can try him next. He works with the military. Though I will point out again that time is running short; not sure that the other rooms will be possible.”

They entered the second room, which had the same basic furnishings as Pawah's – and as Doyle would guess, as all the personal rooms did. Bodie immediately sank to the floor before the clothes casket, as Doyle started following the walls and flooring.

 _Nothing. Nothing._ Doyle was feeling frustrated – running out of time, and he was sure there was something in this House, something that would give them a lead. _What am I missing?_ He looked at the walls; the furniture, with Bodie carefully laying out the contents; the flooring; the column -

 _The column._ That was the one thing that was different in this room; unlike the other, a support column for the roof ran through it. _The column's capital isn't flush against the ceiling -_

Doyle pulled the wooden stool over to the column and gingerly climbed on it, reaching around the top of the capital until his fingers brushed up against a box.

The box was in his hands quickly enough, and he brought it over to Bodie. “Happy New Year's; someone's left us a prezzie, I think,” he said as he showed the wooden box to Bodie.

“Ah, excellent,” Bodie replied. Go ahead, open it up.”

It was a small box, fairly plain, with a few hieroglyphs running its length. A knob for a drawer sat at one end. He had no idea what would happen, what curses might be invoked, if he pulled on it; but he decided to trust in his amulet and pulled it open.

There were scraps of papyrus - of various shapes and sizes, though all relatively small - all crammed into the box. “Go ahead – you know we need to know,” breathed Bodie, leaning over the object in Doyle's hands. Doyle pulled one, just one, slip out, placing the box carefully on the floor.

His nerves were much steadier than he felt as he unfurled the scrap and held it so that Bodie could see, as well.

The scrap read as a curse against

 

_Rameses, Ruler of Heliopolis_

The birth name of Pharaoh.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Come now!” Horemhab hissed, appearing at the door. “They have returned! You must go now!”

They looked at each other, then sprang into action. Doyle closed the little drawer, carefully replacing the box atop the column exactly as it had been, then shifted the stool back to the desk. Bodie replaced the clothing in the chest so that no one, not even the owner, would know it had been disturbed. Doyle looked over the room one last time; the scrap of papyrus still in his hand. _Need this. This is the evidence._ He shifted it into the band of his kilt, beneath the tunic, and nodded to Bodie; then followed the broad-backed figure swiftly retreating from the room.

Horemhab stopped them in the hall. “You can't go back out the way you came in; it's too late for that. Listen to me carefully. Take this hall to its end, and turn left. Travel fifty cubits along the wall, then turn left again. Go up past two doorways, and turn right, until you get to the end. There will be an exit to the larger temple precinct, and a guard's door to the left of that. Tell them you have finished your task, and give them these tokens,” he shoved two disks into Doyle and Bodie's hands, “and the guard will allow you to leave. The tokens are important – none are allowed to leave on their own, and the tokens prove that you were here on official business.

“The exit from the temple itself will lead you into the Street of the Woodworkers. I assume you'll know your way from there?”

They both nodded yes.

“Good; now go. All time has passed, and I must go to welcome the others back. And life, health, and prosperity to both of you. Khem is depending on you.”

“All life, health, and prosperity to you as well, Horemhab. And be careful of the viper in your midst.”

They hurried down the corridor.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Doyle knew he had a reputation, one which he often refuted, of being a hothead; but none could have pegged him for anything more than a half-bored messenger, done with his task and contemplating the end of his workday, as he and Bodie approached the gate. Beyond the doorway lay the gate in the wall, and the dusty stretch that led to the Street of the Woodworkers, slowly losing shape in the approaching darkness.

 _And freedom_. At least the relative freedom of the city, where it might still be possible to lose oneself from those seeking to quash any knowledge of inconvenient topics.

He could almost feel his scalp itch with the nearness of that freedom.

“Good evening to you,” Bodie drawled to the guard, bringing Doyle back to that point just inside of the gate. “Life, prosperity, and health to you.”

“Same to you,” growled the guard, apparently none too happy to be there. “Your business?”

“We just came from the temple, two late deliveries. About done for the day, and beyond ready for a good strong dish of beer.” Bodie handed over his token, rather nonchalantly.

“Make that two dishes of beer – and a roast fish.” Doyle handed over his token as well. “We're to give these to you, so you can tick all the appropriate boxes.”

The guard took the tokens, checking in the dying light; and, confirming their validity, relaxed just the slightest bit. “Yeah, wish I could say the same. But Mehy is out sick – sick with a hangover, more likely – so have to cover my _and_ his shift, now don't I? And me with nothing more than a roll and some old scallions.”

“My condolences,” replied Bodie. “Could bring you something back from the closest House of Beer, though this isn't my local.”

“May the gods bless you for that, son – and don't you worry about it.” The guard was almost completely at ease by this point. “The missus will have something waiting the minute I step in the door. It can hold until then.

“But look at me going on, and it's time to light the lamps. Get off with yourselves, then.”

“A good night to you sir, and hopefully it won't take too long.”

“A good night to you two lads.”

And they were out of the temple gates and on their way.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“It's probably best,” Doyle said, “if we split up here, meet back at the safehouse after third watch. Aren't supposed to know each other beyond coincidence. And we're being followed, as well.”

“Completely agree, sunshine. So you go down the Street of the Woodworkers, and I'll go down the Street of the Jackals, and we'll meet up after a decent interval.”

Bodie set off following the wall of the Temple of Amun, strolling as though he was ending his workday, without a care in the world. He'd seen Doyle turn down a different way, and figured he'd strike out some distance, then double back to get to the safehouse.

The streets were still relatively quiet after evening prayers; shapes were beginning to come out on some of the roofs, families settling down to enjoy the cool of the evening breeze. A few souls were sprinkled about the dusty streets, but overall the district was quiet.

He turned, and saw the slightest puff of dust by a doorway.

If someone was still pursuing him, they were doing an excellent job of it.

_Should be a shortcut here. Shall we see if we're still being followed, then?_

He turned down into a side alley, backtracking in a direction opposite of the way he remembered he and Doyle had approached the little rundown hut, thoughts of finding a secure bolthole and eating a bit confined to a deep recess in his thoughts.

A pebble skittered across the path behind him.

_That answers that question._

He and Doyle had gotten away, and they had a lead. _Doyle_ had the lead. Bodie could draw their pursuers away from Doyle, give him a chance – and he wasn't out of the running yet himself. There was a way out, there was always a way out. _Just duck down this alley – there must be an opening out, a route through a house, a gate that would lead back to the Street of the -_

He was so preoccupied, he'd almost run into the wall before he saw it. But, instead of stopping, he just levered himself up to grab the top and pull himself over in one fluid motion.

Bodie swung himself over, alit on the other side – careful this time not to knock anything over - and turned around to survey the area. Another alley, several doorways - and a void where there should be children laughing and families gathering on rooftops. _Abandoned._

He slipped into the first doorway and let his eyes adjust to the dark. Empty, with a fine layer of undisturbed sand over the surfaces; no one had been here in many moons. Which meant he'd leave clear tracks pointing to his whereabouts, and there was not enough time to use that to his advantage.

He slipped back out, checked the alley. Nothing, but he could hear some sort of scrabbling by the wall he'd scaled. _Not much time before they'll be over, then._ He shot down the alley past three more doorways, then slipped into another structure.

It was abandoned, sand-dusted, like the first. Behind him, Bodie could hear the sound of his pursuers clearing the wall announcing that avenue of escape closed. But there _was_ another way to go – and he bounded up the stairs to the roof of the house.

 _If I make my way back to the first house, they will think that I've run in and out so won't think to look upstairs. While they're down here, I can slip out there. Just have to make sure they don't catch me making my way back._ He looked over the roof to the house next door, judging the distance between the two roofs. _Not a short hop, but nothing we hadn't covered in military training._ He backed up, said a quick prayer to the gods, then took off over the edge of the roof.

There was a feeling of flying and lightness, of having escaped the bounds of the earth and taken wing like the great Horus hawk, leaving all earthly cares behind. And then he landed with a rough thud, his feet announcing he was back on earth and back in the current situation; and the lightness was gone, just a memory, to be replaced by sounds coming from the alley below.

It didn't sound like they'd heard him; then again, he and Doyle hadn't thought Akhet-Amun had heard them, either. He'd have to be more careful.

 _Well, no time to waste._ And he scarpered across the roof and leapt across to the next building.

He could hear them, then, several bodies _three or four_ just outside the building in the alley below. Quiet enough that they could move swiftly, stealthily on their search. Bodie positioned himself well back from the edge of the building, flat against the roof, behind the entry to the staircase in case one of them got any brilliant ideas.

Waiting for them to pass.

He saw a shadow cross the base of the stairs and pause; froze, preparing himself to strike. But the shadow moved on, without coming any closer to the stairs, and he heard them move through then out of the building, seeing no trace of him downstairs.

 _Good._ Though he knew he was far from out of trouble yet.

This was the trick, judging whether they were far enough away to risk jumping to the next roof – or even going downstairs from this one. _Probably safer to get as far away as possible, before going downstairs._

He gave it a few more seconds – agonizingly long, yet not long enough – then lifted his head.

A few rustlings further down the alley, but nothing immediate.

He slowly rose to his feet. _Still nothing._ Silent as a cat, he backed up to the opposite edge of the roof, then ran swiftly across and launched himself off.

Flying, flying – and then he was crouched on the next roof, silently posed, alert for any sound.

_Still nothing._

He'd have to move quickly, now; at any second, they would find his tracks in the fourth hut and start to piece together what he'd done.

He scurried to the stairs and quickly, quietly covered the distance down to the main floor. He made his way around the perimeter of the room to the front entry, so that no one walking by would see his footprints, then flattened himself against the side of the entrance, peering out.

_Best to scale the wall again, go back that way._

He could hear some commotion down at the fourth building.

Just as he was about to step out of the doorway and slide over to the wall -

“Hold on, I know it's here. I'll be right there.” A voice sounded from just beyond the door.

Bodie took his dagger from its sheath around his waist, curled his fingers around its comforting grip.

“Here you are. Can't drop you yet _again_ , Horus; that'd make the third time this year. The other half would have my head with having to replace you once more; she's already threatened divorce over it.” The man was just at the doorway, picking up something that Bodie assumed was a personal amulet. He was close enough that Bodie could smell the stench of garlic rising off the man's skin, though he couldn't quite see the figure.

Bodie held his breath, waiting on fate to determine what would happen next.

“Eh, got a couple of seconds,” the man muttered; there was rustling, and a thin stream of liquid splashed against the other side of the wall from Bodie.

 _Oh, fantastic._ He thought of the seconds ticking away.

Mercifully, it was short; then there was more rustling, and adjustments.

“Oy, better get moving. Hey, there – that's how I lost you before!” And a small figure of Horus came flying through the door to land opposite Bodie.

Bodie's arm came down to grab the neck, and his dagger came up to scrape across it.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bodie shifted the body further into the building, sheathing the dagger, then peered around the doorway, worried. There were a few figures down at the fourth house, though they hadn't turned around. _Not enough time; need to get out now._ He leapt to the wall, catching his fingers at the top.

He'd pulled himself to rest his arms at the top – and there was a violent tug at his ankle.

 _Damn._ Horus-loser must've had company.

A low whistle sounded; and even as Bodie kicked out, he could hear other noises coming up the alley.

 _Shit._ That certainly wasn't good.

And more hands were pulling him down, now. His fingers grasped, struggled; then there was no choice but to let go.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bodie gave as good as he got, taking out at least two guards; but in the end, there were too many of them. Unlike Horus-loser, they were as silent as they were deadly, raining blows down Bodie with barely a grunt among them.

A little part of him sat back, detached and observing. _Medjay. At least dressed as medjay. Whatever they are, they know what they're doing. This must be even more professional than we thought._

Bodie wasn't given to fits of sentimentality or maudlin behavior; but he did wonder how Doyle had fared, and whether he was faring any better. _Maybe we should've stayed together; at least we could've watched each other's backs..._

And then he was down, sandaled feet slamming into his torso, body blossoming into pain.

_Damn, leave enough for the embalmers, would you?_

_So much for Doyle's charm_ , he thought. And then everything went dark.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It was the slide into the water, for all its cushioning warmth, that woke Bodie.

 _River – night – bad idea._ He was conscious enough to realise the hazards of being fresh meat in the river – the waters would be teeming with crocodiles, and hippos, and all sorts of nasty things. And a part of him was alert, was warning him to _move, move_ , but the rest of his body just was not cooperating.

He dipped down below the surface, then bobbed back up, gently, as they had been careful to throw him in to minimize any sound. He could see a skiff smoothly pulling back to shore in the faint moonlight, just another shape among many on the river.

Swimming wouldn't be a good idea right now – he suspected that at the very least he had bruised, if not broken, ribs – but he had to get out of the river as quickly as possible. He wasn't very far from the shore – he supposed they'd had to dispose of him as quickly and quietly as possible, so they had kept fairly close in.

He tried his arms - _oooft_ \- then legs. Minimizing his movements as much as he could and still keep swimming, ignoring the pain slicing through him, he manoeuvred himself towards shore.

It was slow moving, but it was progress; and he would take what he could get.

He didn't think about the pain; that was for later.

After what seemed to be hours but was more likely seconds, when he could see more distinctly the rushes announcing the shore and a better situation to be in, he was focused on his immediate goal, but not too focused to notice the shape to the side sliding into the water off to the side.

_Crocodile._

His blood froze, but he kept focused on his goal. _Rushes, no trees to climb, need to get far enough on land that the croc will drop the pursuit._

He didn't think about how unlikely that was.

He remained focused, though he kept the shape in sight. It slid inexorably closer, while he was unable to move fast enough to get out of range.

He spared a quick thought for Doyle, hoping the man would find a way out of this mess and had a good life ahead of him.

His hand bumped against his chest. He winced, but then felt the metallic lump. _The angelfish._ He felt a flash of sadness that Doyle had placed so much trust in the failed amulet.

The shape was only cubits off. He was close to the first few clumps of rushes, if he only had a few more seconds -

There was a huge splash, and the shape came roaring up and away from Bodie.

He couldn't see what was happening, just heard the struggle close by. Too close by. It took only a few milliseconds to cycle through the surprise and recalculation, and he was off, moving as quickly as he could, headed to the rushes to pull himself out of the water and onto land.

It was a testament to his level of fitness that he was able to get a fair distance away from the marshes and well inland before collapsing in some farmer's field. He didn't stop to find out what had happened in the waters behind him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Something was tugging at him; he groggily lifted a hand to push it away. “G'way. Want to lie here in peace.”

“Told you everyone needs minding sometimes,” was the response. “And this will likely hurt you more than it will me.”

His body was lifted, and the pain shot through him. Thankfully, a layer of darkness washed over him and he knew nothing more.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Consciousness came back in stages, along with bits and pieces of sensation. A brightness, which slowly resolved to a room that looked unfamiliar. The feel of a coarse cloth laid over him, covering a soreness in his body that was intent on avoiding contact with anything else, heavy or light. The scent of herbs – some sort of liniment – which might be keeping much more pain at bay. A dryness in his mouth, as though he'd not had anything to drink in days.

And a faint sound of gentle breathing, coming from elsewhere in the room.

He tried to turn to his right, but his body was having none of that; so he made do with turning his head to the right as much as he could, to find out more about this room he was in.

He was in a hut, nothing fancy and in fact rather run down, a basic chest and table pushed against the wall. Indirect lighting – late morning sun, he'd guess - poured through the gap between the tops of the walls and the thatched roof. And sitting opposite on the floor, leant against the wall was Doyle, head back and apparently skimming the surface of asleep.

Even through his pain, Bodie had to admire the man's form and innate grace. Although the position must have been uncomfortable, Doyle was relaxed: arms limp in his lap; the exquisite line of his neck showing at just the right angle for a gentle kiss; his lips slightly parted and sensual, just awaiting another kiss to bring them to life…

 _This is a dangerous line to go down._ Bodie knew next to nothing about Doyle, or at least about his tastes, and carelessly pursuing this line had caused him trouble in the past. Second, because even if everything else were lined up, and the stroppy bastard were to offer himself up on the floor, Bodie was in no shape to take advantage of the opportunity, and would only embarrass himself.

As though he'd picked up on the thoughts, Doyle's eyes slowly cracked open, and the now-familiar blue-green blossomed into awareness. The eyes immediately focused on Bodie and the body glided into motion.

_Motion._

_Perfection._

“So you're back among the living then, sunshine?” The banter was light, but couldn't quite hide the tiredness and worry underlying it.

“Not sure yet; not everything is following orders at the moment. What day is this?”

“The 15th day of the second month of Shemu. Fish are jumpin', although the cotton's past high to harvested.” Doyle hovered just out of reach, giving Bodie autonomy but ready in case his help was needed.

Bodie tried his elbows, then levered his torso up off the ground. It was as bad as he'd thought it would be, but he had the sneaking suspicion that it would have hurt a lot more without whatever had been smeared across his flesh.

“Don't know what you used, but you should bottle it up and sell it at the market,” he managed to get out without too much trouble.

“More where that came from, if you need it.”

“Will definitely keep that at the top of the list.” The banter had helped him get up and into a sitting position. “So, it's been four days. Where are we now?”

Doyle knew exactly what he meant, as Bodie knew he would. “Holed up in a different safe house. No Cowley, but still have the paper. They apparently went after you, not me.” He glanced towards the window, then back at Bodie. “Though that may change; we should move soon, just in case.”

“How did you find me?”

“Simple deduction – following your big paw prints along the ground. Plus bribed a kid, who told me about a man that was beaten up and dragged over to the path to the river. How did you get out?”

“Not sure. Water woke me up. Thought I'd become dinner for sure, but… something happened.” He was surprised to realise he couldn't remember what _something_ was. “Found myself stumbling around a field, and collapsed in sheer gratitude.”

“Well, whatever it was, it turned out well. How do you feel now?”

“Like Pharaoh's charioteers ran me over a few hundred times, but I'll live.” He rotated his wrists and ankles a few times; they seemed to be in working order. As was his stomach, by the low grumble that sounded. “And I could eat a rhinoceros.”

Doyle flashed a genuine smile. “The sign of the stomach - that's how I know you're doing better. Up for some broth? Be better to get something more substantial later if we can move today.”

“Broth will work for now, but I'll hold you to that rhinoceros dinner.” Bodie smiled back, then adjusted his position without even a wince.

Doyle stepped a little out of Bodie's visual range, and returned with two bowls of something fragrantly steaming. “Get your laughing gear around that.”

“Gladly, sunshine.” Bodie took the bowl, and balanced it carefully in his hands, careful not to spill the liquid. If they were to move, he'd need as much strength as he could get out of the broth.

“So, then – what about the issue at hand? Our little bit of swag?”

“Secured for now. Been waiting for you to wake up, Goldilocks; we have to come up with a Plan B.”

“Yes, we do,” agreed Bodie.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In the end, Bodie had his broth, which was more filling than he'd have expected, and they were able to move that night to another location, deep in another even less desirable neighborhood. Bodie had been a bit preoccupied with walking upright enough to hide his hurts; but he was sure he'd counted at least a fair dozen ladies of the night on their torturous route to this new location.

“Nothing like hiding in plain sight; just another couple of peasants keeping to themselves, not giving or looking for any trouble. The kind of place where no one will talk. I like.”

“We aim to please,” replied Doyle. “We aim to live a bit longer, as well.”

They walked across the threshold into the hut. The building was, if it were possible, even more run-down than their prior accommodations. The mud walls were pitted, drifting sand was mounded in irregular patches across the floor, and there was more moonlight than thatched roof above them.

“No expense spared,” commented Bodie. “Fit for pharaoh himself.”

“For you, only the best,” quipped Doyle.

After a filling meal which, though not rhinoceros, Bodie consumed as though he were a condemned man, they sat in the glow of a single lamp, silently watching its small flame flicker. Doyle couldn't begin to guess what was on Bodie's mind, beyond knowing that they had to sort out how to extricate themselves from the current situation.

“Mate -” they started simultaneously, then glanced sharply at each other.

“You go first, Doyle; you've been up to a bit more than I have.”

“Wouldn't say that; you'd have the lock on activities right now, Sunshine. But have been up to a bit, especially given the task at hand. While you were catching up on beauty sleep, found your mate Tutamen, the one who told you about Seneb. The one who's part of Pharaoh's personal guard.”

“Couldn't tell you that before -”

“Naw, I know.” Doyle cut him off. “Strictly need-to-know basis, and didn't need to know then. But this is now; so he told me, and he may be able to get us into the palace. Can at least tell us when to hang about the palace, wait for a procession or an audience. Throw ourselves at the feet of mighty Pharaoh. Though you're a sight, mind; not sure how Pharaoh will take to that.”

“Got an audience, and not a thing to wear,” Bodie vamped, then grew serious. “But we need to think through exactly what and how we're going to tell him. Gotta get this right; we'll only get one chance.”

“Tell him what we know: there are curses popping up with his name on them, we have proof of one; people are dying left and right; and he needs protection. More than he has now, anyway. Forewarned is forearmed.”

“But the trick is to forewarn while keeping your head. Running up to Pharaoh is not exactly _de rigeur_.”

“Yes; but gifts for Pharaoh are. And we'll need a special kind of gift.”

“So what can we give Pharaoh that would ensure he'd want to speak to a couple of nobodies?”

“Well, not nobodies, exactly; we serve our Pharaoh and his administration faithfully. We are sworn to obey and serve, and it is our responsibility to report any danger to Pharaoh that we may have heard of.”

“Always thought of you as Sinhue, myself.” Doyle gave Bodie a piercing look. “First sign of trouble, and off you hie to the Land of Punt.”

“Are you calling me a coward, then?” Bodie didn't sound half put-out. “Never ran from a fight in my life.”

“And yet you told me earlier you were a regular Sinhue...”

“Bedtime story amongst the charioteers. Was a joke, and you know it.”

“Bet that wasn't all you got up to with the charioteers.”

“Have to admit – used to have a fair number of adventures in the charioteers, but nothing to top this.”

“Well, the medjay has it's ups and downs, but nothing on this scale. Some corruption – a lot of corruption, at that – but nothing beyond local power on their minds. And certainly nothing involving the royal family.” Doyle was preoccupied – brooding, as far as Bodie could tell. Doodling something on a scrap of papyrus, anyway.

He wanted to know more. “So how did you get here, Doyle?”

“How did I get where?”

“Waset, medjay, current abode. Know Waset, know charms, know healing. Know quite a bit.”

Doyle looked critically at him.

“No, I'm serious. Been through a lot together in a short time. Would like to know more about who's been watching me back.”

“Not doing it to your specifications?”

“No, Sunshine,” Bodie replied. “I'd say you've done it better than anyone else I've ever met. And that would include Seneb.”

Doyle shot Bodie a piercing look for a few seconds; then, looking away, expelled a deep breath.

“Born in Waset, like I said before. As was my mother, and her mother, and her mother. 100% Egyptian through and through – on my mother's side. She practices some minor _heka_ here and there; she's the one who taught me about the ointments and amulets, though she's not enough of an expert to make a crust from it.

“She's always been independent, free-willed. A bit of a tearaway when she met and rolled over my Da. He was from away – possibly Punt, possibly Naharin; she was never sure. They met, enjoyed each other; and then he went back on his big seafaring ship, and she discovered he had left something behind: me.

“She never regretted a single day of it, and she always took care of me. Now I make sure she's provided for – as much as she allows me to – and I make sure to honour my ancestors. All of them.”

“But the medjay, at least, haven't always taken care of you.”

“How do you know about that?”

“You mentioned that you'd run into some troubles on that front; 'some corruption, or a lot, but only local power' is the term I believe you used. Can't see you as participating in that, and can't see you happy with that. Thus there must be some dissatisfaction.”

“A regular Sherlock Holmes. Yes, had some trouble there. Nothing I couldn't handle.” _The less said about that, the better._ “And you?”

“Changing the subject, are we?”

“Not rehashing the past, if that's what you mean.”

“Is there anything about your past that could get you in trouble with Pharaoh? Need to know, Doyle.”

“Oh… Well, some of me superiors had decided to skim a bit off the top, make a little profit on the side for themselves.” Doyle recalled the cows from the royal herd whose brands Penhuibin had altered, then led away.

“And you reported them.”

“Yes.”

“And they didn't like it, I assume.”

“No.”

“But they didn't fire you.”

“Not for trying, but that would have been too obvious. No, but there was no more partnership, much less moving ahead with that lot.” _No, his partner died on a raid, in a setup meant for him, and that was that._

Bodie looked thoughtful.

“What about you? How did you get here?” Doyle asked.

“Made my entrance on perhaps the least fortuitous day of the year.”

“With your luck, Babi's birthday.”

“Devourer of the unrighteous at their final judgement? Thanks a lot.”

“More like eats everything in sight and chases anything that moves – and some things that don't. Amazed your kilt isn't permanently tented.”

“Well, I'm a growing boy, have to burn it all off. Plus they have to be under fifty, warm, and willing. Either way, no one has ever had a reason to complain.” Bodie looked smug. “And you're wrong anyway, it's Set.”

“Set, murderer of Osiris. You don't do things by half, do you?'

“Well, go bold or go home.”

Doyle gave him an exasperated look.

“Well, had quite the childhood born on a day like that. Everyone figured I was cursed, and I went no small distance to prove them right. They thought about leaving me on some temple's steps, and I thought about running away. Led to me finally striking out when I was old enough to pass for older; joined a merchant ship, worked the trade routes. Jumped ship once I was a little older, one time when we'd docked at Punt. Worked there a few years, did this and that; the less you know about that the better – but always wanted to come back to Khem. Made friends with some Egyptian troops stationed there, eventually decided to join in the service of Pharaoh, and joined the navy. They sent me back, but to join the charioteers. And here I am.

“Have had some good days, and some bad. I've moved from place to place in and out of the service of Pharaoh, seen a lot, done a lot. Mostly haven't regretted it, but maybe I'd do it a little differently if I had it to do again.”

“Not sure that I'd have read all that in you, but none of it is surprising.”

“What, I'm well-matured, like a fine wine?”

“More like well-used, if you asked me. But if it helps with the matter at hand, I can live with that.”

“Yeah, can live with you, too. Don't really have a choice at the moment; but I think we're best paired together to deal with the matter at hand. No, not think – I _know_ we are.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Anything to eat in here?” Bodie, by now able to move semi-fluidly across the hut, was busily rummaging through their box of provisions. “Beyond the nuts and berries you seem to favor.” He turned and walked up behind Doyle. “An ant would starve around here. With the kind of grub you pack in, a good breeze would pick you up and carry you away.” And the hand went out teasingly to grope its intended target.

“Oy!” Doyle turned and intercepted the hand by the wrist just before it connected with his hind quarters. He quickly twisted the wrist up between them. “Can take you on any day of the week, and several Sundays, too.”

“Didn't know you cared, Doyle,” Bodie batted his long eyelashes.

“I'll show you 'care,' Bodie.” And they went at it.

Unlike their earlier bout, it was a friendly tussle; the several broken dishes and overturned stool that happened to get in their way helped to burn off the constant anxiety and tension since they'd been teamed, the stress of not knowing what was happening or who was after them, and the unknown territory between them.

And then he'd had Bodie backed up against a wall, a laugh in the now familiar eyes, and they looked – truly _looked_ – at each other.

Doyle felt the whirling about him again, this time a hurricane ratcheting up to a fever pitch, enclosing him and Bodie in the eye of its deadly storm. In here, in the center with just him and Bodie, it was calm, in the way that serious things, momentous things were calm, and he could tell that Bodie felt it as well.

And the blue eyes were boring into him, the gleam in their depths showing that Bodie, Bodie felt it too, felt it as well, felt the sheer _inevitability_ of things. Felt like they were falling into the deadly void – but together; and together, they could beat anything: vipers, assassins, even Pharaoh's army, at that.

“Yes,” Bodie breathed, and then they had melded together, claiming each other, mouths came to fuse together; they battled each other for possession and supremacy, for the ability not just to take, but to give as well, and he found himself on the pallet, Bodie on top of him, grinning, pinning his wrists in place, and dipping to lick once, twice, then in a long line down his chest. Licking, then biting, then laughing as Doyle squirmed with impatience, not sure if he wanted to break free or force Bodie to go _faster, faster, damn it_ ; and he stilled himself, savoring the second but knowing what he had to do. Bodie fell to his task, more absorbed in it, while Doyle stilled himself and relaxed as much as he could under the onslaught; relaxed while biding his time, as those fine white teeth tortured his nipple, drove him crazy. He was just conscious enough to gauge the moment, then surged up, taking Bodie off guard; flipping him over, kneeling over him and pinning him with the element of surprise, and lust, and impatience; then running his hands all along the body, gauging it, discovering it, worshipping it, wanting to get closer; wanting to know, to meld into the body beneath him. He bent over and treated himself to a long, luxurious, soul-searing kiss, more exciting than could have been imagined, more granting of possession than taking it; and his hands were still in motion, moving around and down, and finding the kilt, and its knot, and scrabbling to untie it. Untied, it fell away, and his hand continued to roam as his tongue was completely occupied, roamed to the broad back and scrabbled around the perfectly toned buttocks, and -

Bumped into a hard nugget.

_That's not right._

He pulled back, frowning, as his hand groped around the muscular waist and closed around a small object on a thin chain. The smirk across the lips was turning to a frown -

As his hands unfastened the object and brought it before them.

A charm. It was a charm.

Fallen from Bodie's kilt.

Doyle ignored the look on the other face and studied it more closely, squinting slightly.

It was a love charm. Heka. _Magic._

The winds, by now, had died off around them.

“Didn't mean to use magic Doyle – I mean, I _wasn't_ using -”

“Really, Bodie? Trusted me, then? Well, go to hell with you.” And Doyle got up, adjusted his clothes, and strode out the door.

_Using magic on me, Bodie. Right._

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

In the end, there was only so far that Doyle could go; they were, after all, on a job, they had urgent information, and they had no one else to go to but each other.

And Bodie, though much better than he had been, was still far from healed.

Plus there was the little matter of the scrap of papyrus.

He headed back through the door of the safehouse, as sure of foot as he could make himself appear.

“Best we move on again; lots to get done.” Doyle was stoic, business-like, and not about to let the earlier incident get in the way of duty.

“Yes, and little time in which to do it.” Bodie wasn't about to fall down at his duty, either.

Doyle looked directly at him, blankly, then turned to pick up his belongings. “Yes, let's go do it, then.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The little hut was small, but neat and well-maintained. A few well-kept plants grew in pots outside; the thatch on the roof was freshly cut and green; and a little figurine of Bes sat in a niche by the door, ready to protect the home.

“Tutamen?” Bodie poked his head in the door. “Nefer?”

A woman came towards them from the recesses of the house, all open-faced hospitality. “Bodie! What a surprise. Come in, visit with us. Tutamen just went down to the market, he'll be back any minute.”

“Would love to hon, but have some pressing business at hand. We do need to speak to Tutamen for a few minutes, though. He'll be back soon, you say?”

“Yes, any minute. Enough time for you to sit a bit. But where are my manners?” She held her hand out to Doyle. “I'm Nefer, Tutamen's wife. You are - ?”

“Ray Doyle. Work with Bodie.” He took the hand and traded a warm shake. “Don't mean to be an imposition.”

“None at all. Please, take a seat; I'll get you a couple of dishes of beer.” She disappeared behind a screen.

They sat down together, silent, at a loss of words to say to each other.

“Seems very nice.”

“Yes, Tutamen was lucky to find her.”

Then, nothing. Doyle looked out the doorway while Bodie studied his nails.

“Here you go, drink up.” Nefer came bustling back with a tray of beer dishes and some small snacks. “Enough to tide you over until he gets here.”

“And here he is.” A booming voice sounded from the door. “Bodie! And his friend, Doyle. Life, prosperity, health to the both of you. Good to see you up and about, Bodie.”

“Thanks, Tutamen. Good to be up and about.”

“What brings you across my threshold?”

“Some sensitive business. Sorry, Nefer...”

“No, I know my husband's job. My parents never guessed I was marrying Pharaoh when I married him.” She smiled graciously. “Well, I wanted to go visit my mother at any rate, so I'll leave you all to it. I'll be back for evening devotions.” She kissed her husband on the cheek, then strolled out the door.

Tutamen watched her go, then turned towards them. “So, my friends. What is troubling you?”

“We need a favor,” Bodie began.

“Or at least some advice,” Doyle added.

“Need to visit Per-Aa, the Great House, then?”

“Yes, we do. And thanks for understanding.”

“Okay, then, you'll need some etiquette tips, then – especially if this one is going in.” He gestured at Bodie.

“Oi! I'm right here, you know.”


	7. Ma'at Restored

They stood in line with the other supplicants, waiting outside the entrance to Djamet, Pharaoh's great temple and palace. Tutamen's directions had been able to get them a good place in line, but the gates remained closed even at this late hour.

Inscriptions stared down at them from the high stone walls – massive depictions of Pharaoh smiting and driving back the invading Sea Peoples. There were battles, and attacks, and prisoners bound beneath the imposing feet of a ten-metre high figure bearing the Double Crown.

And chariots. Lines and lines of chariots, letting loose unimaginable volleys of arrows.

“Think that one's me,” Bodie pointed to one figure.

Doyle rolled his eyes.

Bodie looked towards the still-shut gates of Djamet. “Hope they open soon, else they won't be opening at all today,” he frowned.

“Well, we're not done, yet.” Doyle was getting concerned as well, though he was careful not to show too much.

“You might be, at that,” the man before them turned and said. “Looks like there won't be any audiences today, and in fact the chap ahead of me said he'd heard that from further up in the queue. Unexpected cancellation.”

“That isn't good,” Bodie responded. “We need Pharaoh's, er, help rather urgently.”

“Don't we all,” the man replied. “But if there's no audience, there's no help to ask for.”

“Wait a minute,” Doyle pointed forward. “Looks like the gate's opening now.”

“Harken!”a voice rang out over the crowd. “Rameses, Ruler of Ma'at, Beloved of Amun. On your knees before the Crown Prince!”

“Crown Prince,” Doyle said, looking meaningfully at Bodie. 

“Crown Prince,” Bodie replied, giving him a slight nod.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The wheels of the chariot had cleared the entry gate. Concerned, impatient, the Crown Prince raised his arm to bring his whip down and urge the horses on, when two figures broke form the crowd and prostrated themselves in the dirt of the oncoming procession.

“What the - ? GUARDS!” he barked, reining in the horses. A detachment of soldiers broke free and surrounded the two men, hefting them to their feet.

“Your Highness, forgive your humble servant!” This one was tall, dark haired, commanding; _likely has no trouble with the ladies, that one does_. “We have come with important, critical news for Pharaoh's health and safety.” 

“Very important news, which cannot wait. Please forgive our forwardness in our approach.” The other man, with a mass of curly hair, likely had no trouble with filling his bed either. _But they speak of my father, and this is no time to be careless._ “Guards – we cannot be delayed any further. Bring them along.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Who are you?”

“I am Bodie, of Pharaoh's charioteers, and I have a message for him or the Crown Prince, no one else.” The blindfold made it hard to direct his words in the right direction, though he made his best effort.

“Who employed you?”

“I cannot say.” He briefly twisted his hands in their rope bounds discretely.

“What is your mission?”

“The protection of Pharaoh.”

There was a pause, which Bodie imagined would be only momentary, as the five prior pauses had been; and then the questions would start again.

“So, Bodie of Pharaoh's charioteers, and who is the man with you?” No, it was a new voice, less agitated, with different questions.

“That is Doyle, of Pharaoh's medjay force.”

“How do you know him?”

“We were paired to work on this case.” Less agitated was likely not a good thing.

“Were you paired to bring harm to your Lord, Pharaoh?”

“Of course not; I am sworn to protect the Living Horus and would lay my life down to do so. _Have_ laid down my life, though it wasn't needed in the end.”

“Why were you carrying a spell containing Pharaoh's birth name?”

“It is our proof that there is a plot against His Holy Being.”

“What is your part in that plot?”

“We do not have a part in the plot; our duty is to bring the plot to the attention of Pharaoh.”

Another pause, a little sooner than expected.

“Take him down to the Place of Destruction,” said the calm voice. “He won't say anything without persuasion.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The jail was small, dark and dank. What Bodie hated the most about it was that it was below ground: away from the sun, or any sign of life.

And that Doyle sat opposite, chained, with a somewhat blank look on his face.

“If you confess now, perhaps we'll only beat you. Go easy on yourself, and we won't erase your name from existence.”

“Told you – we came to save pharaoh, not to harm him.”

“You'll have to be more convincing that that, lad.” Bodie could hear the swish of the cat o' nine tails behind him, ready to swing.

“Last chance, traitor. What do you know?” The lash crashed to his right, only centimetres from his head.

Bodie said nothing, steeling himself for the impact.

“Okay, then, have it your way. But this is going to hurt you more than me -”

“Laddie – stay your arm! In the name of the crown prince!” A northern brogue rang out, bouncing around the cell. “Stay your arm, I said!”

“Oy, never get to have any fun,” Bodie heard the man mutter; then, louder, “Yes, sir.”

“Unchain these men, and have them brought to my rooms straightaway. And no dallying,” the brogue continued, “for I shall know if you've decided spend some time practicing.”

“Yes, sir.” The torturer managed to remove most of his disappointment from his voice this time.

“Believe me, laddie, you'll have more than enough practice soon enough. I will expect them in my rooms in five minutes, in no worse shape than they are now.” And Bodie could hear the sweep of feet exit the chamber.

Doyle seemed slightly more animated, which was a good thing.

“So, Doyle, seems like we've crossed paths with Lord Cowley again,” he managed to get out.

Which was another good thing.

Perhaps.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Gentlemen, have a seat.”

A little the worse for wear, Bodie and Doyle had been brought to a series of small rooms, sparsely but comfortably furnished. Bodie believed they were in some palace – the layout and the appointments indicated nothing but the best – though he wasn't sure exactly which palace and who lived in it. They both sat on the offered stools – actual stools – facing Lord Cowley.

Bodie took a deep breath in. The smell of the sun, the street, the _land_ was glorious. What was even more glorious was that Doyle seemed much, much more responsive than he had in the dungeon; in fact, Bodie would bet anything that underneath the curls the man was seething.

“I'm sure you have a number of questions, which I will answer to the best of my ability. But first, let me offer you a drink.” He stood and walked – limped, Bodie noticed, which he hadn't noticed before – to a cabinet, from which he retrieved several bowls and a jar, simple yet elegant. He approached the table before which sat the two men, placed the jar and dishes before them, and gestured. “Please.”

Doyle remained motionless, so Bodie picked up two dishes and filled them to the rim. He placed one before Doyle and lifted the other to his lips.

“Bentreshyt -” Cowley called out, and a beautiful, very efficient looking dark-haired woman came through the doorway. 

“Yes, Lord Cowley?”

“Please make sure that we're not interrupted.”

“Yes, sir.” Inclining her head, she left and pulled the door to behind her.

Bodie let the beverage – the first thing to pass his lips in quite a while – slide down his throat in one gulp. It was cooled, smooth, pure, like a glorious day on the Great River. The Flying Duck, as renowned as it had been, had nothing on this beverage. 

“I'm sure you have numerous questions for me -”

“Yes,” Doyle interrupted, “like why you abandoned us and nearly got us killed several times over, for one.”

“- and I will answer your questions in time, Doyle,” Cowley continued, speaking over Doyle. “All will become clear in a minute. Let me explain what has been happening.

“When you walked through my door, we had been finding charms in various locations. I hired you to find out why.”

“And left us dangling in the process,” Doyle pressed.

“I left you to carry out an investigation of what might have been, and in fact turned out to be, an exceedingly sensitive matter. As you uncovered, there was a plot against Pharaoh, and we had to root out who was behind it and what exactly they meant to do. As a result, very few escaped suspicion, so I and all but a few trusted souls had to move underground. Thus I cut off access with the everyday world.”

“So you burnt down your headquarters,” Doyle said.

“After several of my men were killed or had disappeared, and our operations were in danger of being eradicated; yes, we erased our traces and went underground.

“Ahmet-Atum sent word to me regarding the amulets you had borrowed from me, Bodie.” Bodie had the grace to look the slight bit sheepish at the disclosure. “We were able to track your movements to the House of Life at the Temple of Amun, but so were others – others whom we later were able to track down and extract information from. However, that information was not enough or in enough time to completely prevent their deeds from becoming actions. Pharaoh, His Countenance be preserved, has been stricken.”

“We were too late, then,” Bodie said, frowning. “How does Pharaoh fare? He hasn't attained his horizon, has he?”He noticed that Doyle's face showed just as much shock.

“Not well, Bodie, not well. We pray for his recovery night and day, but it does not look well.

“But there is more. The plot is not yet over; there have been words placed in ears, to incite disorder among the people to rise against their Lord and established Ma'at in Khem, to aid in usurping the throne. While we know some of the players, we do not know them all. However, we do know who the next target is.”

“It continues? But how do you know the next target?” Bodie asked, puzzled. This was not something they had been able to discover.

“No, he's right, Bodie,” Doyle replied, his anger redirected. “The next target would represent the natural order. That would be the Crown Prince.”

“Correct, Doyle. Our task now is to protect the Crown Prince,” Lord Cowley replied solemnly. “And there have been threats and actions directed against him, as well.”

“Well, shouldn't he just stay in the palace until the insurrection is controlled, surrounded by trusted forces?” Bodie said.

“No, the Crown Prince will have to appear, and show the people that he is in full control as Pharaoh's right hand,” Doyle ventured. “And an arrow could come from anywhere – while who the 'trusted forces' are isn't exactly known.”

“Correct, Doyle. We need to protect the Crown Prince, and we don't know from who or what.”

“Which would mean decoys.” It seemed logical to Bodie.

“Yes. The Crown Prince must be seen in the streets of Waset, in command, to put paid to the idea that there is any threat of chaos in the land or in Pharaoh's administration.”

“What about a decoy for Pharaoh Himself? Would seem to make more sense,” Bodie pointed out.

“It is more important to show the Crown Prince at this point. If anything should happen to Pharaoh -”

“If, say, he should be called to his ancestors?” Bodie suggested.

“Yes, if he should be, it must be clear that the path of succession is clear and unquestionable. And that is where you two come in.”

“Because,” continued Doyle, “we are to guard him.”

“No, because you are to _be_ him.”

“What?” they said simultaneously; then Bodie continued, “and how is that going to work? Neither of us looks like him.”

“You don't have to,” Cowley replied. “A simple _Nemes_ or _khat_ headdress, a quick chariot trip or an appearance from a distance, and the Crown Prince has been seen in Waset. Doyle has the same general facial structure, including the cheekbone, as the Crown Prince damaged his during a chariot ride as a child. Starting tomorrow, you'll be sent out to make the Crown Prince's normal appearances.”

“Wait a minute, Lord Cowley – Doyle can't even drive a chariot!”

“No, he can't, Bodie; but he is the most believable.” Cowley replied. “We can work around the rest.”

“For Pharaoh and the Crown Prince, I'll do what needs to be done,” Doyle replied.

“Then I go with him, to guard his back.”

“I completely concur, Bodie. The two of you will be taken to the Crown Prince's quarters here, where you will have the evening to bathe, eat, and rest. Starting tomorrow, Doyle, you shall be the Crown Prince, and Bodie shall be your bodyguard.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Cowley bloody Cowley,” said Bodie, over a dish of the finest wine he'd ever tasted.

“Yeah,” agreed Doyle. “Accommodations are top flight, all the mod cons; but the cost? Wasn't quite what I had in mind when I thought about honouring my ancestors.”

“Cowley walked us right into agreeing with his plan. Not to help Pharaoh and the Crown Prince, mind; would do anything to help them, preserve Ma'at in Khem. But masquerading as the Crown Prince? All sorts of troubles there.”

“You just need one person who knows what the Crown Prince looks like, or what either of us looks like, and the gig is up. Not to mention all the possible ways of defiling and blaspheming just by looking funny at the royal latrine, much less anything else.”

“I can see Cowley's point, mind. We've seen the Crown Prince now – and you do look like him, generally speaking. Sure you aren't a long-lost cousin or something? Okay, just a question,” in answer to Doyle's look of incredulity. “But you do. Maybe your Da hailed from the same shores as the Crown Prince's mother.”

“Drop it, Bodie,” Doyle growled back.

“Nothing wrong with it, Doyle. Many people have come to Khem throughout the eons. Khem has sons and daughters who are the children of freed slaves; it also has sons and daughters – and pharaohs – who are the children of foreign princesses. All are as of Khem as anyone whose forebears were here when Menes united the Two Lands.

“Inside you are 100% Khemetic, which makes the outside immaterial. And anyway, green eyes are great to gaze into while indulging in a bit of how's yer father. Ow! Okay, I'm dropping it. Didn't have to clout me,” Bodie pouted, rubbing the side of his head.

“You should mind, then. Especially since we have serious duties to discharge.”

“Yes, serious duties,” Bodie sobered up. “Nothing more serious than protecting Khem from unknown threats.” Bodie looked over at his partner. “You scared?”

Doyle nodded briefly. “Yeah. You?”

A pause. “Yeah. All the time.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Bodie couldn't sleep; based on the periodic sighs and rustling from the bed looming above him, he guessed Doyle couldn't, either.

“Oy,” he called out softly into the blackness.

“Can't sleep either, I see.”

A soft breeze came in through the high windows.

“Bodie...” came a stern warning.

“S'not me – they took everything when they threw us in prison, remember? And they haven't returned it, either. I shall be lodging a complaint about that.”

“Sometimes a breeze is just a breeze.” Doyle said quietly.

“Sometimes, yes.”

Silence ensued for a bit; then: “Doyle? Or should I genuflect and call you Amonhirkhopshef?”

“Enough, Bodie. What do you want?” There was a definite edge to Doyle's growl of a voice; Bodie wasn't sure if it were directed at the situation or at him.

“Think there's something Cowley's not telling us.”

“Now there's a surprise. Actually, it'd occurred to me as well. What if Pharaoh was - ”

“Already dead,” they concluded together.

“It's the only thing that makes sense right now,” Bodie went on. “The Crown Prince is the crown prince, and his position is secure. Could be a bit impatient, but he is the chosen successor and already has quite a few titles – and power. So who else is there who would gain from seeing Pharaoh dead and the land in chaos?”

“Someone,” Doyle replied back, “Who likely is near or under the same roof.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Ready?” The blue eyes were riveted on the figure, resplendent in a royal blue robe and striped nemes headdress, covering the riotous curls Bodie was used to seeing.

“Yeah, let's get this over with.” The other looked back with a little gratitude for the support, then stepped forward onto the chariot: graceful, even regal. _Mind, he looks the part, too. Could pass for the Crown Prince done up like that._

At least that was their hope. Bodie gave it a better than even chance that Doyle could pull it off.

They were to take a chariot ride through Waset, from the palace to the Temple of Min, and make sure that the 'Crown Prince' and his guard were well seen. Bodie had insisted on being the chariot driver; he'd been told that the actual prince, who would perform the devotions once they were at the temple, was somewhere in the accompanying phalanx of guards.

They'd thought of everything, rehearsed possible scenarios, gone over every contingency; but Bodie knew there was never a way to anticipate everything.

The group wheeled out onto the wide boulevard, the crier clearing the way before them, and switched to a fast canter. Behind and to his side on the chariot platform, Doyle stood impassively, the crook and flail of the Two Lands firmly gripped in his hands. Though outwardly he expertly steered the chariot on its course, with every bump of the wheels Bodie felt his heart in his mouth, imagining arrows arcing from every rooftop or daggers thrown from each doorway, angling towards them. Towards _Doyle_. _It would be so easy to kill him like this; how I can protect him?_

But so far the majority of activity involved a blur of figures falling to their knees as the convoy passed by.

It wasn't until they were in the courtyard of the Temple of Min, dismounting among the protection of its high walls, that Bodie realised he'd gripped the reins hard enough to leave fingernail marks in the hard leather.

Though he'd never tell Doyle that.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Day five, and they were no closer to forcing the hand of the conspirators.

Bodie didn't like this. During a couple of the appearances, scuffles had broken out in the crowd; the medjay had waded in, clubs raised, to break them up. And reports were coming in of minor riots breaking out in other parts of Khem.

No, Bodie didn't like this at all.

“'Let's go out for a chariot ride,' he says. 'Let's try an audience at the window,' he says. Easy enough for Cowley to say all that,” Bodie grumbled. “Not the one playing tethered goat, now is he?”

“Will be over soon enough, mate,” Doyle muttered, “you should relax. After all, not you on the line.”

“No, Doyle; it's both of us. To them, you're cannon fodder; they're concerned about the Crown Prince, not you. No one else is going to keep you out of trouble.”

“'Keeping out of trouble'? Is that what they call it now?” But Doyle sounded thankful despite the snark. “It's our duty and our job, Bodie. It's what we do. And right now, the Crown Prince has an appearance to make.”

“Yes, you're right; he does. So let's go out and do it, then.”

They proceeded to the audience balcony once again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

At the balcony, the group stood outside the entrance, gazing out over the crowd. Rank upon rank of citizens knelt facing the door, but the mood felt wrong.

“My family is hungry!” rang out from somewhere in the back of the crowd.

“Where is Pharaoh?” echoed back from another section.

“We need grain!” a third scream sounded.

“Pretender! Where is Pharaoh?” again.

Scattered sections of the crowd started to seethe, and things started flying through the air. Something bounced off a nearby column, to roll to a stop at their feet.

A stone.

“We need to get inside – now,” Bodie said, only loud enough for those nearby to hear him.

“Wait,” Doyle said, “one minute.” And he held up the crook and flail.

The crowd fell silent.

Doyle pointed the implements out over the crowd.

After a few tense seconds, it was though an electric charge coursed through the massed bodies; the various sections of the crowd knelt silently, almost magically. Doyle brought his arms back to his chest, crossing the crook and flail as before, and slowly turned to enter the temple.

“Good job, mate – you have them eating out of your hand.” Once inside the temple, Bodie clasped Doyle by the shoulder to spin him around. “Not sure what you did there, but they bought it...”

The words died before leaving his mouth, as Doyle turned around, an ugly wound oozing blood from the side of his head, and collapsed into Bodie's arms.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“We've done what we could, Lord Cowley; the rest lies in the hands of Amun and time.” The priest-doctor was deferential, but firm. “The medicines have been administered, the spells said, the incense burned. He needs time to heal and become whole again.”

“Has he woken yet?” Cowley remained impassive, although the priest wasn't sure that he'd ever seen Cowley show this much concern for one of his agents before.

“Not fully. Muttered a few things, but he hasn't come fully back, no.”

“I see.” Cowley was deep in thought. “He'll stay here in the precinct grounds for now, with a couple of my men to keep guard.”

“I'll keep guard over him,” one man stepped forward from where he'd taken up residence beside the sickbed. The priest remembered him as the tall, dark man with the no-nonsense demeanor who'd carried the injured man in from the balcony. He supposed that the two men were partners in the Crown Prince's guard.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Eh?” He opened his eyes, focusing on what looked to be a colorful mural of a marsh scene. Beautifully rendered, but completely unrecognized.

“Doyle?” A familiar face came into view, the blue eyes twinkling. “Back among us again?”

“Bodie?” Dole croaked out. “Umm – where – ?”

“Here, let me get you something for that throat.”

The face moved away for a second; there were a few clinks, then the sound of liquid pouring, and then the features moved back into view. “C'mon, let's get you up.” The eyes shifted to lower on his body, calculating logistics; Doyle noticed that a beard was growing in along the lines of the strong chin.

He felt the warmth of an arm wrapping behind him, and he was carefully, gently levered up and a dish brought to his mouth. He parted his lips, and a soothing liquid slid between and down his throat.

The dish was empty too soon. “Better?”

He nodded, then realised that that wasn't the wisest thing. “Yes,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. A second “yes” came out more strongly.

“Head hurt?”

“I'll live.” He felt like the head priestess at the Temple of Hathor the day after the end of the Festival of Drunkenness. “What happened?”

“Finally met up with something a little harder than your noggin. What do you remember?”

“We went to the audience window, and...” he frowned. “ _Something_ happened, but not coming to me at the moment.”

“The crowd got a little boisterous, things started flying, but you calmed them down. Remember that part?”

“No, nothing after walking out onto the balcony. Riot, then? What happened with that?”

“You did an arm-waving bit, crowd calmed down and dispersed. Medjay were out in force to make sure nothing else happened. You managed to make it off the balcony, then collapsed. We brought you in here, the doctors did their magic, and that's about it.”

“How many days?”

“Now I know you must be on the mend. Two days, which is pretty good according to the doctor. And before you ask, the Crown Prince is fine, though laying low for a bit. They're fresh out of stand-ins at the moment.” A dark cloud crossed the fine features.

“Well, m'feeling better; we'll be back at it soon.”

“Take it a day at a time, mate. Take it a day at a time.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The doctors, tired of the sluggish yet stroppy patient and his gruffly dark companion, decreased their visits to the sick room, until they limited their checks to a few times during the daylight hours. Truthfully, their patient was healing quickly, needing quiet more than anything else, so it was no great imposition to provide medications, check his progress, and leave the two of them in relative silence rather than having them snap at the ministrations of the healers. As the eldest healer often said, bad patients usually meant improving health.

So in the dark, as Ra's barque made its way through the Underworld of the Duat and the Great God battled the evil snake Apep, it was just the two of them, alone in the silence of the outer room of the Crown Prince's suite.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Doyle was careful to be extremely quiet, but Bodie could tell something was wrong. There was the periodic turning, and the absence of the easy breath of sleep. He arose and quietly moved to the sickbed, gently laying a hand across the exposed shoulder.

“'G'way, 'm not awake,” was the response, though it was clear he was anything but asleep.

The evening was a bit chilly, and it seemed to be seeping into Doyle's bones; though Bodie, who valued his head, would never say that out loud. “Well, don't know about you, Sunshine, but it's a bit nippy out here. Mind some company?”

“Why, so you can hog the covers?” But Doyle shifted a bit, and Bodie slid in next to him.

“No, gonna leach your warmth, like a succubus.”

“An incubus, no? Oy - ” Doyle shivered as Bodie shifted against him on the small pallet.

“Arse is hanging out on this side, Doyle. And incubus, succubus – I cover all the fun demons. C'mon, then, give us some room.” Bodie seemed quite at ease.

“And there goes the covers. Do you ever go to sleep?”

“Poor little boy; shall I sing you a nursey rhyme?”

“I'll nursery rhyme you...” and Doyle launched an attack against Bodie.

Bodie was initially surprised; but, once the long, bony fingers had started digging into his sides he gave as good as he got. They fought for supremacy, stifling their laughter to keep the guards from coming in, but enjoying the lightheartedness all the same. Doyle raised himself up to use his height to pin Bodie down on the bed.

And then, as a wisp of wind ghosted through Doyle's hair, he leant down and gently kissed Bodie.

The wind immediately returned, stronger than ever; but instead of fighting it, working against it, they welcomed it, used it to brace the emotions swirling within them, between them. Doyle's kiss deepened, became more insistent; Bodie responded in kind, matching tongued kiss with tongued kiss, a fever building up within him. They twisted on the bed, fighting to get closer, get into each other; he could feel Doyle's pants against him, and his response building, but there was one thing Bodie needed to know, that was nagging at the edges of what little free will he had left -

He broke away, paused, looked at Doyle. “You sure? You're still healing -”

“Shuddup, Bodie.” And Doyle dragged his head back down.

The winds howled around them, a furnace raged inside; hands and fingertips and bites and breaths swirling in a vortex. They were mainly just touching each other, and now moving against each other, synchronizing their rhythms, synchronizing their souls.

The winds raged around them, tearing through their souls, almost forcing them to hold onto each other to prevent being ripped away.

And then in a blinding howl, Bodie felt it all explode from him, whatever this 'it' was, blowing out and into the universe, as he held onto this being which was part of his soul, inextricably linked to him, never to be rent asunder.

And then he was coming down, alighting from on high as gently as a falling palm frond in the quiet after a storm. He could feel Doyle, in his arms, resolving into a separate form once again, a warm body firm and solid against him.

He'd been careful, he'd tried to be careful; he would never harm any partner. Not even in bed play meant as such. But this was new, and different, and so unlike nothing he'd ever done before, he couldn't tell just what he'd done, what had gone on.

He pulled back a bit, relaxing and relaxed, and looked in the blue-green eyes. Searching...

“You okay?”

“Stop thinking so much or you'll break something.” Doyle growled, then grinned at him. “At the moment, I'm absolutely perfect. That's what no magic will do for you.”

Bodie grinned back, feeling a peace he'd never felt before. Not like this.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

_Something's wrong._

Bodie awoke suddenly, all his senses firing in the still room. Doyle was wrapped around him, in a deep sleep, secure in where he was.

 _Or not._ The even breathing had become more shallow, more in keeping with an alert observance.

One eye cracked open; Bodie brought a finger to his lips, to warn him to keep still. He gently nodded once in acknowledgement.

 _There it is._ The softest footfalls, making their way across the floor. Whoever it was stealthily approached the bed. Doyle was facing the wrong direction; Bodie kept his eyes just slit, looking out over Doyle's head, to see two shapes coming forward in the dark.

“Stop,” a voice whispered, almost too low to be heard. “This isn't right. The potion did its work, but s'not him.”

“What?” a reply, barely whispered back.

“S'not him. I bet it's the decoy. With that guard of his.”

“They keep the decoy in his _rooms_?”

“Apparently. So don't do it. This complicates things.”

There was the soft hiss of a dagger sliding into a sheath.

“You must strike _him_ down; not the decoy. There won't be a second chance.”

“What shall we tell Her Highness, then? We're running out of time.”

“Tell her the truth, and that the prince is being cautious – but not everything is lost. The rest of the plan continues. But we must return to the harem, else we'll be missed.”

The figures oh-so-silently made their way back, the muffled footfalls padding away from the room.

Doyle blinked and grimaced. _We need to follow them._

Bodie jerked his head to the side. _What are we waiting for, then?_

They eased themselves off the sickbed and padded cross the stone floor and out of the room, carrying their sandals with them.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

They stuck to the shadows, just able to keep up with the retreating figures – one tall, one squat – far ahead of them. But oddly enough, the figures veered off into the gardens, rather than continuing on to the entry of the harem.

Bodie and Doyle approached as closely as they dared, coming to a halt behind one of the massive columns bordering the harem gardens, just able to peek around its edge to eye the figures waiting by a pond.

Soon enough, a hooded figure slid from the shadows to join them. It was too dark, the moon too weak, for them to make out the features; but the darkness enabled them to approach closer.

“Your Highness.” And Jack and the Beanstalk, as Bodie had come to think of them, dropped to one knee in obeisance.

“Get up, you fools, there's no time to waste. Were you successful?”

“He wasn't there, my Queen. It was the decoy and his guard.”

“He's being cautious, then. Tell me you didn't kill the decoy? That would complicate things immensely.”

“No, Your Highness; we felt that would tip Your hand too much.”

“Wise decision. Now, get more amulets about the palace; but for the love of all the Gods make sure you avoid my son's path. We don't want this to backfire any more than it has until we can get the other pieces in place.

“And be sure to slow down, but do not kill, the decoy. At least not yet. We need no repeats of whatever trick he pulled the other day. Work on him through the potions he's getting.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Report back tomorrow night, and let me know of your progress.”

“Yes, Queen Tiye. Your wish is our command.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Come in, Bodie, Doyle.” The brogue cut through the wooden door as though they'd been standing before the man.

“Lord Cowley.” Bodie and Doyle entered the room and halted before the desk.

Despite the late hour, the man sat before his papyri, intent on some issue. “Yes, what is it?”

Doyle spoke for the two of them. “We have urgent news for you, sir, and the walls may have ears.” He kept his voice low as they had no idea who was about in this part of the palace.

“Shall we go for a chariot ride, then?”

“That might be best, sir.”

“Then let's depart.” Lord Cowley stood and made his way through the doorway, gesturing them to follow him.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Doyle, who had been quite used to foot travel before being involved in this oppo, admittedly was impressed with how many people one chariot could accommodate at high speed. He stood behind Bodie and Lord Cowley, using his body as a buffer for the older man. Lord Cowley listened intently to their recounting of the evening, as Bodie expertly handled the reins as they coursed through the abandoned streets, heading towards the desert.

“Two men came to assassinate the Crown Prince tonight,” Doyle told Cowley. “Once they realized it was the decoy and not the real thing, they turned back – and we followed them. Straight to a meeting with Queen Tiye in the harem gardens. They haven't given up, and are planning to amp up their assault against the Crown Prince through magic.”

“Ach - it's Queen Tiye driving this, then,” the older man thoughtfully tapped his index finger against his chin a few times. “Yes... quite a sly one she is. That makes her the mother, and her son Prince Pentawer, the child of the spells. A much more complicated web than we'd thought… attacks from within the heart of the harem.”

“Assuming you want Doyle to continue on as decoy, too, sir,” Bodie added. “Though that won't last much longer; they spared him tonight, but are planning to add a slow poison, or some agent, to the medicines the doctors have been providing to him.”

Cowley looked up from his thoughts, steely-eyed. “Yes, we'll have to lay an especially careful trap for this one – and I have just the one. Back to Waset we go, then. On the double, Bodie!”

Bodie pulled on the reins, sweeping the chariot through a graceful arc as they raced back towards the darkened buildings of Waset.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“All Hail the Crown Prince!”

It had been another five days, and both Bodie and Doyle were just as much on edge as they had been before the traitors had been identified. Cowley had not made a move against the traitors yet, either – and they could no longer trust the medications that the doctors still sent in. The shrubs outside the sickroom window were beginning to turn yellow, Bodie was ready to stab anyone who entered through the low doorway, and Doyle was still sorting through what side effects he was meant to mimic while trying not to throttle Bodie for his overprotectiveness.

And then finally, that morning, with the cock's crow, Cowley had summoned them, and commanded them to assist in taking down a queen.

They now stood before the dais of the audience room, amongst the guard surrounding the members of the royal family on the platform. Various members of the court were assembled, including the traitorous Queen Tiye and her son Prince Pentawer, seated relaxed and nonchalant in smaller thrones to the side. Doyle noticed the queen give him a quick appraising stare then ignore him.

The Crown Prince came sweeping into the room, to stand before the main throne and the assemblage.

“Where is Pharaoh?” clearly sounded from the back of the room. The muttering grew louder, and the guards grew tense.

“Restore Ma'at – restore Pharaoh!” a second voice cried out.

“We need leaders in the service of Khem, not themselves!” And the crowd began to surge forward.

There was the sound of swords being drawn, and then the guard armed themselves in kind, and the real fighting began.

Despite the crush of bodies in combat, Doyle felt like he had clear sight of three things: first, his duty, the protection of the Crown Prince standing behind him, armed to fight but buffered by the men of his guard; secondly, the area before him, with bodies surging forward ready to exploit any weakness in his guard; and most importantly, the figure of Bodie next to him, swinging his own sword left and right with almost childlike abandon.

And then he saw it coming, flying towards him – no, towards the Crown Prince. It was a dagger thrown from the crowd, arcing its way through the air just over the heads, but at the right height for a figure on the dais -

_No -_

And Doyle jumped up to intercept the piece of metal flying towards them -

Only to see a flash of something before him, which knocked the dagger out of the air.

Bodie stood to the left, a sword hefted in his hand and a sloppy grin on his face. “That won't do anything for your hair, Sunshine. Told you to comb it; shaving never entered the discussion.” And he was back into the fray.

At least for a moment, until a buzz turned into a loud roar behind him.

“ENOUGH!”

And the room became silent, the combatants pausing, the air electric with expectation.

“ENOUGH, I say!” roared behind him again, and he turned.

The Crown Prince had his hands raised over the proceedings, a light emanating from his being.

“Who in here doubts my power, which derives from the power of my Father? I am Ramessu heqa Maat mery Amun: Ramesses, ruler of Maat, beloved of Amun; designated the Crown Prince and my Father's heir. Those who would doubt so, do so at their own peril. ON YOUR KNEES!”

The assemblage fell to their knees.

“There is a sickness in the palace, a threat to the order of the Land of Khem. A threat in this room,” the voice boomed over them, sounding both great and terrible. “A threat which has taken our Father away, forced him to attain his horizon,” there were audible gasps in the room, “which has reached out to threaten me as well, for its own selfish needs.

“It is time to halt this threat, bring it to justice for its wicked deeds. A tribunal shall be convened on the morrow to judge the guilty. All will have the chance to defend themselves, but make no mistake: those who have disrupted Ma'at and the well-being of Khem shall bring their punishment upon themselves, and their crimes shall seize them. For each criminal guilty of this great crime, it shall be found that:

“His neck shall be seized like that of a goose.

“He shall have no heir.

“His years shall be diminished.

“His lifetime shall not exist on earth.

“He shall not exist.

“His estate shall belong to the fire, and his house shall belong to the consuming flame; his relatives shall detest him.

“His office shall be taken away before his face and it shall be given to a man who is his enemy.

“His face shall be spat at.

“He shall be cooked together with the condemned.

“His name shall not exist in the land of Egypt.

“The criminals shall be destroyed, erased from this life and the next. For I am Pharaoh, and I command it!”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Have a seat, gentlemen. And pour yourselves a drink.” Lord Cowley gestured at the jar on his desk, placed before the two men standing before it. Bodie and Doyle wasted no time in pouring themselves, and him, a dish each and relaxing into the chairs.

“Yes, a definite cleaning of house, gentlemen. The traitors and their accomplices have been arrested and are being tried.”

“At least the Prince – er, Pharaoh, was able to consolidate his forces and put a halt to the whole thing, sir. Can't imagine if that lot had been successful.”

“Aye, Bodie, an uneasy thing to contemplate. Traitorous deeds always are.”

“What about the women of the harem, Sir?”

“No one escapes the feather of justice, Doyle. Why, one lass even had her brother, the captain of the Nubian guard, working to bring about the rebellion outside of the palace. No, they will be tried as well; perhaps not as publicly as the others, but they will not escape their just due.”

“Heard part of the harem tried to seduce some of the justices, sir.” Bodie found it hard to imagine the plot would have continued on to that extent.

“'Tried' being the operative word, Bodie. Those justices found guilty were punished as well.”

“Yeah, lost their noses and ears.” Bodie touched his nose and winced.

“They should be glad they lost nothing else. They had a sacred trust, which they betrayed.

“But enough of this. I sent for you two for a specific reason.” Lord Cowley picked up a papyrus. “You two were instrumental in tracking down the meaning of those amulets, as well as finding out who was behind the plot. Our new Pharaoh has made it known that he is very pleased that we were able to avoid catastrophe, and I am very pleased at how productive you've been. There is always a need for operatives to help maintain Ma'at throughout the land and ensure that Khem remains secure. So I am offering you permanent places in CI5, as a team. The work is long, dirty, and dangerous; and most times you'll not be recognized for it. But our brief is to protect by any means necessary, and we exist to keep the land of Khem smelling, even if ever so faintly, of jasmine and lotus.

You have the rest of today to sort out your effects; I will expect you here tomorrow, at first light, to start the induction process. Bentreshyt!” and the beautiful, efficient-looking woman appeared at the doorway. “Bodie and Doyle will be starting tomorrow, as planned. Please file this.” 

“Yes, sir.” She took the proffered papyrus, turned, and left the room.

“Anything else, gentlemen?” The look in the man's eye precluded and further discussion.

“Er, no, sir,” said Bodie; and they were dismissed.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Don't recall actually being asked for our opinion,” Doyle pointed out.

“Admit it, though; that's what you wanted, isn't it? What you told me you wanted, anyway.” Bodie kicked a stone, which skipped along the path they were following and into the waters of the Great River. “A member of the exalted CI5. Honour your ancestors, and all that.”

“Well, that's true.”

“Plus you've got me. Two for the price of one.”

“I can hardly wait.” Doyle rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of which, is this really the path to your mother's house? Or are you just trying to feed me to the crocodiles?”

“Yes, she lives by the river; and no, I could try but I doubt the crocodiles would want you in the end.”

“Who wouldn't want this face? Ow! You and the poking! I hope you didn't inherit your bony fingers from your mother, else I won't survive this.”

“You'll survive it, and everything else, because she'll want to find out _everything_ about her son's partner.” And Doyle grinned evilly.

The two figures veered off with the path as it separated from the riverbank.

Behind them, a breeze kicked up eddies in the dust.

**Author's Note:**

> First, the usual ~~suspects~~ disclaimers - I don't own the characters; you'd have to look to the Brian Clements estate and Mark One Productions for that. Although statute of limitations but be up for Egypt by now.
> 
> Next: I'd like to thank my beta, **Solosundance** (who's probably still wondering exactly where everything is at) and my artist **loxleyprince** , whose images capture the story wonderfully and in a way I'd never imagined. Both have been SUPER during this process, while I've been MIA for periods of time. 
> 
> Please be sure to check out **[Loxley's wonderful images](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8380132)**.
> 
> And here's to the memory of the fen that we've lost recently.
> 
> To give a little more background to the story, there be some spoilers below.
> 
> Researching the [Judicial Papyrus of Turin](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Judicial_Papyrus_of_Turin) reveals a dark tale of conspiracies, and assassination, and justice, circa 1156 BC. Pharaoh Ramses III (grandson of the famous one), after thirty-plus years of a turbulent reign, was murdered as part of a palace coup, in an attempt by one of his wives to promote her own son to the throne. Pharaoh was killed, but the Crown Prince was not; the resulting retribution was great and terrible. The papyrus provides a record of the trials around that event.
> 
> Someone must have figured out what was going on before the Crown Prince could be assassinated. I'd like to think that Egypt had its own version of CI5, ready to serve. :-)
> 
> A few other bits: 
> 
> Magic was an integral part of daily Egyptian life, and magic appears here as though it were the norm. Did it really happen? You'll have to figure that out for yourself.
> 
> I aimed to make this fic more “Pros-in-Egypt,” rather than naming some Egyptian characters (in)appropriately; as a result, there is a mix of 1970s Britain and 1156 BC Egypt. The names of several of the conspirators have been included, but the names of most of the Pros characters remain the same. 
> 
> Writing this story also involved a lot of enjoyable research, including (but not limited to) the following:
> 
>   * _The Harem Conspiracy: The Murder of Ramesses III_ by Susan Redford
>   * _Magic in Ancient Egypt_ by Geraldine Pinch
>   * Numerous websites
> 

> 
> And some terms for those who have not spent a good chunk of their lives reading about the place:
> 
>   * **Khem** – Egypt
>   * **Great River** – the Nile
>   * **Waset** – Thebes
>   * **Men-nefer** – Memphis
>   * **Set Ma'at** \- Deir el-Bahari
>   * **Ka-na-na** \- Canaan
>   * **Punt** \- kingdom and trading partner of Egypt, believed to have been in the Horn of Africa
>   * **Naharin** \- kingdom of Mitanni
>   * **medjay** \- Pharaoh's elite police force
>   * **Per-aa** \- 'great house,' the word from which 'Pharaoh' comes
>   * **Per-khemret** \- 'hidden room / apartment' – harem (changed here to secret space)
> 



End file.
